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Historical Painting Techniques,<br />
Materials, and Studio Practice
PUBLICATIONS COORDINATION: Dinah Berland<br />
EDITING & PRODUCTION COORDINATION: Corinne Lightweaver<br />
EDITORIAL CONSULTATION: Jo Hill<br />
COVER DESIGN: Jackie Gallagher-Lange<br />
PRODUCTION & PRINTING: Allen Press, Inc., Lawrence, Kansas<br />
SYMPOSIUM ORGANIZERS:<br />
Erma Hermens, Art History Institute of the University of Leiden<br />
Marja Peek, Central Research Laboratory for Objects of Art and Science,<br />
Amsterdam<br />
© 1995 by The J. Paul Getty Trust<br />
All rights reserved<br />
Printed in the United States of America<br />
ISBN 0-89236-322-3<br />
The Getty Conservation Institute is committed to the preservation of<br />
cultural heritage worldwide. The Institute seeks to advance scientiRc<br />
knowledge and professional practice and to raise public awareness of<br />
conservation. Through research, training, documentation, exchange of<br />
information, and ReId projects, the Institute addresses issues related to<br />
the conservation of museum objects and archival collections,<br />
archaeological monuments and sites, and historic bUildings and cities.<br />
The Institute is an operating program of the J. Paul Getty Trust.<br />
COVER ILLUSTRATION<br />
Gherardo Cibo, "Colchico," folio 17r of Herbarium, ca. 1570. Courtesy<br />
of the British Library.<br />
FRONTISPIECE<br />
Detail from Jan Baptiste Collaert, Color Olivi, 1566-1628. After<br />
Johannes Stradanus. Courtesy of the Rijksmuseum-Stichting,<br />
Amsterdam.<br />
Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data<br />
Historical painting techniques, materials, and studio practice :<br />
preprints of a symposium [held at] University of Leiden, the<br />
Netherlands, 26-29 June 1995/ edited by Arie Wallert, Erma<br />
Hermens, and Marja Peek.<br />
p. cm.<br />
Includes bibliographical references.<br />
ISBN 0-89236-322-3 (pbk.)<br />
1. Painting-Techniques-Congresses. 2. Artists' materials-<br />
-Congresses. 3. Polychromy-Congresses. I. Wallert, Arie,<br />
1950- II. Hermens, Erma, 1958- . III. Peek, Marja, 1961-<br />
ND1500.H57 1995<br />
751' .09-dc20 95-9805<br />
CIP<br />
Second printing 1996<br />
iv
Contents<br />
vii<br />
viii<br />
Foreword<br />
Preface<br />
1 Leslie A. Carlyle, Beyond a Collection of Data: What We Can<br />
Learn from Documentary Sources on Artists' Materials and<br />
Techniques<br />
6 Sylvana Barrett, Dusan C. Stulik, An Integrated Approach for the<br />
Study of Painting Techniques<br />
12 Helen Glanville, Varnish, Grounds, Viewing Distance, and<br />
Lighting: Some Notes on Seventeenth-Century Italian Painting<br />
Technique<br />
20 Ann Massing, From Books of Secrets to Encylopedias: Painting<br />
Techniques in France between 1600 and 1800<br />
30 Sally A. Woodcock, The Roberson Archive: Content and<br />
Significance<br />
38 Arie Wallert, Libro Secondo de Diversi Colori e Sise da Mettere a<br />
Oro: A Fifteenth-Century Technical Treatise on ManUSCript<br />
Illumination<br />
48 Erma Hermens, A Seventeenth-Century Italian Treatise on<br />
Miniature Painting and Its Author(s)<br />
58 Beate Federspiel, Questions about Medieval Gesso Grounds<br />
65 Renate Woudhuysen-Keller, Aspects of Painting Technique in the<br />
Use of Verdigris and Copper Resinate<br />
70 Josephine A. Darrah, Connections and Coincidences: Three<br />
Pigments<br />
78 Kate I. Duffy, Jacki A. Elgar, An Investigation of Palette and Color<br />
Notations Used to Create a Set of Tibetan Thangkas<br />
85 Zuzana Skalova, New Evidence for the Medieval Production of<br />
Icons in the Nile Valley<br />
91 Helen C. Howard, Techniques of the Romanesque and Gothic Wall<br />
Paintings in the Holy Sepulchre Chapel, Winchester Cathedral<br />
105 Eddie Sinclair, The Polychromy of Exeter and Salisbury<br />
Cathedrals: A Preliminary Comparison<br />
111 Andrea Rothe, Andrea Mantegna's Adoration of the Magi<br />
117 Ulrich Birkmaier, Arie Wallert, Andrea Rothe, Technical<br />
Examinations of Titian's Venus and Adonis: A Note on Early<br />
Italian Oil Painting Technique<br />
127 Catherine A. Metzger, Barbara H. Berrie, Gerard David's St.<br />
Anne Altarpiece: Evidence for Workshop Participation<br />
v
135 Molly Faries, Christa Steinbuchel, and J. R. J. van Asperen de<br />
Boer, Maarten van Heemskerck and Jan van Scorel's Haarlem<br />
Workshop<br />
140 E. Melanie Gifford, Style and Technique in Dutch Landscape<br />
Painting in the 1620s<br />
148 J¢rgen Wadum, Johannes Vermeer (1632-1675) and His Use of<br />
Perspective<br />
155 Ilze Poriete, Dace Choldere, A Technical Study of the Materials<br />
and Methods Used by the Painters of the Latvian Churches in the<br />
Seventeenth Century<br />
158 Melissa R. Katz, William Holman Hunt and the «Pre-Raphaelite<br />
Technique"<br />
166 Jo Kirby, Ashok Roy, Paul Delaroche: A Case Study of Academic<br />
Painting<br />
176 Joyce H. Townsend, Painting Techniques and Materials of Turner<br />
and Other British Artists 1775-1875<br />
186 Stephen Hackney, Art for Art's Sake: The Materials and<br />
Techniques of James McNeill Whistler (1834-1903)<br />
191 John R. Gayer, Painting on a Photographic Substrate: Notes<br />
Regarding Materials and Techniques over the Past 100 Years<br />
196 Ernst van de Wetering, Reflections on the Relation between<br />
Technique and Style: The Use of the Palette by the Seventeenth<br />
Century Painter<br />
204 Index of Contributors<br />
vi
Foreword<br />
One of the first events organized by the Getty Conservation Institute as<br />
it began its activities about ten years ago was a symposium on <strong>paintings</strong><br />
conservation. We felt at that time that our particular approach, based on<br />
multiple disciplines looking at a single problem, could contribute significantly<br />
to the field of conservation. Over the course of the past years we<br />
have continued to develop in that direction and with that belief, so it is<br />
particularly appropriate to see these important preprints come to light for<br />
the University of Leiden's symposium.<br />
The history of painting techniques is by nature a multidiSCiplinary area<br />
of study, combining research in science, conservation, and art history as<br />
well as specific expertise in <strong>paintings</strong>. Members of each one of these professions<br />
bring to the area their own detailed knowledge in artists' materials,<br />
techniques, or methods, whether it be information specific to pigments,<br />
binding media, signature style, or archival research.<br />
The field of history of painting techniques has been evolving very rapidly<br />
in recent years and opening enormous opportunities for further research<br />
and connOisseurship, as this important group of papers demonstrates. Not<br />
only scientific methods of examination but also bibliographical and archival<br />
research are making significant contributions.<br />
The authors of these preprints bring a wide array of expert knowledge<br />
as well as many fresh points of view that are certain to provoke serious<br />
questions and debate. The editors-Arie Wallert, Erma Hermens, and<br />
Marja Peek-have assembled this volume with a most inSightful approach<br />
and focus. So it is with a great deal of satisfaction and pleasure that we<br />
present these papers for the study, and enjoyment, of a fascinating and<br />
challenging field.<br />
Miguel Angel Corzo, Director<br />
The Getty Conservation Institute<br />
vii
Preface<br />
This volume of preprints, prepared for an international symposium on<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice at the University<br />
of Leiden, the Netherlands, 26-29 June 1995, contains the results<br />
of work on <strong>historical</strong> painting techniques from all parts of the world. The<br />
suggestion to organize such a meeting was raised during the symposium<br />
on the Technology of Art Works from the Central European Region organized<br />
by the Archives of Art Technology in Prague in 1993. The Prague<br />
symposium emphasized Czech painters and their techniques. To broaden<br />
the scope of attention, Erma Hermens of the Art History Institute of the<br />
University of Leiden and Marja Peek of the Art Historical Department of<br />
the Central Research Laboratory for Objects of Art and Science in Amsterdam<br />
took on the task of organizing a second meeting in Leiden.<br />
The purpose of the symposium and this publication is to promote a<br />
greater understanding of the changing boundaries and interaction between<br />
art historians, conservators, and conservation scientists working in the fields<br />
of <strong>historical</strong> painting techniques-including wall <strong>paintings</strong> and polychrome<br />
sculpture-painting materials, and studio practice.<br />
In recent years, there has been an increasing interest in <strong>historical</strong> painting<br />
techniques. The study of the painting techniques and materials used<br />
throughout history and in various cultures is by nature an interdisciplinary<br />
exercise. In the past such studies were sometimes conducted with little<br />
interaction between art historians, conservators, materials scientists, and<br />
historians of science, because each discipline tends to present the results<br />
of its studies to different forums. This volume aims to present different<br />
approaches to the study of <strong>historical</strong> painting techniques in the hope that<br />
it will encourage cooperation among these various disciplines.<br />
Information about painting techniques can be gained in a variety of<br />
ways, including the chemical or physical analyses of the materials found<br />
in the <strong>paintings</strong>. Analyses of a large number of <strong>paintings</strong> attributed to<br />
certain regions, schools, workshops, or individual masters can contribute<br />
to a history of painting techniques. Analytical results can also help art<br />
historians assess attributions and can support or reject their hypotheses.<br />
The analysts, however, need the art historians to inform them about the<br />
stylistic idiosyncrasies and significance of those schools, workshops, or masters.<br />
It is often rewarding to see what artists have said about their own work<br />
and to study their written sources on painting techniques. This kind of<br />
information has come down to us in diaries, such as Neri di Bicci's Ricordanze;<br />
in painting handbooks such as Cennini's Libra dell'Arte, in anonymous<br />
recipe books; and even in model books, such as Stephan Schriber's<br />
Musterbuch. These recipe books tell scientists what substances to look for<br />
in analysis. Both scientific and art <strong>historical</strong> information help us understand<br />
the significance of sometimes rather obscure recipes and tell us whether<br />
the methods and materials described are common or exceptional for the<br />
particular period. Today it is not unusual to find information from <strong>historical</strong><br />
sources incorporated in the examination of individual <strong>paintings</strong>.<br />
viii
The discussions in this volume present <strong>historical</strong> painting techniques<br />
from a variety of professional perspectives. With its wide range of topics<br />
and approaches to the study of <strong>historical</strong> painting techniques, this publication<br />
is presented in the hope that it will provide an impetus for further<br />
studies that involve material science, art history, conservation, archaeometry,<br />
and the history of science. We also hope it will be one in a series<br />
of such interdisciplinary and collaborative volumes.<br />
In addition to thanking all the colleagues at our institutions who helped<br />
us with advice and expertise, we also would like to acknowledge the<br />
invaluable work and support of several individuals in particular. Miguel<br />
Angel Corzo, director of the Getty Conservation Institute, immediately<br />
supported the idea to publish the presentations of the symposium and<br />
generously provided his time and support in the production of the present<br />
volume. Agnes Grafin Ballestrem, director of the Central Research Laboratory<br />
for Objects of Art and Science in Amsterdam, and A. W. A. Boschloo<br />
of the Art History Institute of the University of Leiden supported<br />
the entire project from its initial stages and advised us during the editorial<br />
process. Corinne Lightweaver and Jo Hill, independent editorial consultants,<br />
carried out invaluable work on the manuscripts, assisted by Joy Hartnett.<br />
In the preparation of these preprints for publication, we also wish to<br />
thank Dinah Berland, publications coordinator, the Getty Conservation<br />
Institute.<br />
Arie Wallert<br />
The Getty Conservation Institute<br />
Erma Hermens<br />
Art History Institute of the University of Leiden<br />
Marya Peek<br />
Central Research Laboratory for Objects of Art and Science, Amsterdam<br />
ix
Plate la, left. Bartolomeo Vivarini, active 145149 1,<br />
Saint Peter, 1490. Tempera on partel. From Polyptych<br />
with Saint James the Greater, The Virgin and Child<br />
and Other Saints. The]. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu<br />
(71.PB.30).<br />
Plate 1 b, above. Detail from Vivarini's Saint Peter, showing<br />
clearly visible, individual brush strokes.
Plate 2a, above right. Attributed to Raphael, 1483- 1520, Portrait<br />
of a Young Man, 1505. Oil on panel. The J. Paul Getty<br />
Museum, Malibu (78. PB. 364}.<br />
Plate 2b, right. Detail from Portrait of a Young Man, illustrating<br />
the clear, luminous color of the transparent oil techniques.
Plate 3a, above. Peter Paul<br />
Rubens, 1577-1640, The<br />
Virgin as the Woman of<br />
the Apocalypse, 1623.<br />
Oil on wood. The]. Paul<br />
Getty Museum, Malibu<br />
(85.PB. 146).<br />
Plate 3b, right. Detail from<br />
The Virgin as the Woman<br />
of the Apocalypse, illustrating<br />
the use of impasto<br />
white under highlighted<br />
areas.
Plate 4a, above. Jacques<br />
Louis David, 1748-1825,<br />
The Sisters Zenalde and<br />
Charlotte Bonaparte,<br />
1821. Oil on canvas. The<br />
J. Paul Getty Museum,<br />
Malibu (86.PA. 740).<br />
Plate 4b, right. Detail Jrom<br />
The Sisters Zenalde and<br />
Charlotte Bonaparte, illustrating<br />
the imperceptible<br />
shift from dark to light tones<br />
resulting from physically<br />
blending pigments on the<br />
suiface
Plate 5, hft. Colorjading tests, 1837-<br />
1878. Fitzwilliam Museum, UnilJwil)'<br />
of Cambridge.<br />
Plate 6, above. Pigmelll {(llilailicrs: j)"illl<br />
bladder to collapsible Illbe. Fil':'lI'illi,1/1/<br />
Museum, Universil), of Clll//Jri(!c.
Plate 7a, above. Valerio<br />
Mariana da Pesaro, Battle<br />
of San Fabiano, 1618-<br />
1620. Photograph by E.<br />
Buzzegoli, Laboratorio di<br />
Restauro. Courtesy of the<br />
Ujfizi Gallery, Florence.<br />
Plate 7b, right. Detail<br />
from Battle of San Fabiano,<br />
1618-1620, showing<br />
the landscape in the<br />
background built up with<br />
several transparent washes<br />
of color. Photograph by E.<br />
Buzzegoli, Laboratorio di<br />
Restauro. Courtesy of the<br />
Ujfizi Gallery, Florence.
Plate 8. Gherardo Cibo, "Colchico, " from Herbarium (MS ADD 22333), jo lio 17r, ca.<br />
1570. Courtesy oj the British Library.
Plate 9. Marco Palmezzano, Mystic Marriage of Saint Catherine, signed and dated<br />
1537. Photograph by Christopher Hurst. Private collection.
Plate 10. Detail from Marco<br />
Palmezzano's Mystic Marriage<br />
of Saint Catherine,<br />
showing green glaze dabbed on<br />
St. Catherine's garment. Area<br />
shown measures approx. 3 X<br />
4 cm. Photograph by Christopher<br />
Hurst. Private collection.<br />
Plate 11. Cross section from PalmezzarLO's Mystic Marriage<br />
of Saint Catherine, showing of the green baldachin<br />
of the throne in normal light (X200). Photograph by Christopher<br />
Hurst. Private collection.<br />
Plate 12. Cross section from Palmezzano's Mystic Marriage<br />
of Saint Catherine, showing the oiling-out layer between<br />
the underpainting and the final glaze in UV light<br />
(X220). Photograph by Christopher Hurst. Private collection.
Plate 13, right. Surya<br />
in his Chariot, ca.<br />
1770, Bundi miniature.<br />
Smalt in the blue sky.<br />
Photograph by Paul<br />
Robins (Photo Studio),<br />
courtesy oj the Victoria &<br />
Albert Museum (D.379-<br />
1889).<br />
Plate 14, below. Krishna<br />
and Girls, 1730-<br />
1735, Basohli mInIature.<br />
Smalt with high arsenic<br />
content in the sky<br />
and Krishna's skin. Photograph<br />
by Paul Robins<br />
(Photo Studio), courtesy<br />
if the Victoria & Albert<br />
Museum (I.M. 87-1930).
Plate 15. The Buddha Shakyamuni<br />
Preaching at Dhanyakataka.<br />
Glue bound paint on cotton, 80.4 X<br />
3 cm. Denman Waldo Ross Collection,<br />
Museum of Fine Arts, Boston<br />
(06.333).
Plate 16. The Fifth King of<br />
Shambhala. Clue bound paint on<br />
cotton, 80.9 X 43.3 em. Denman<br />
Waldo Ross Collection, Museum of<br />
Fine Arts, Boston (06.324).
Plate 17, top. Icon of Virgin with Child Enthroned<br />
between Archangels, Nine Church<br />
Fathers and Nine Coptic Monks in the church<br />
of St. Mercurius Abu's-Saifain. This photograph<br />
documents its state of preservation in 1990. Photograph<br />
by Ayman el-Kranat, courtesy if the Archive<br />
of the church of St. Mercurius Abu's-Saifain.<br />
Plate 18a, b, above lift and right. Icon of Six<br />
Equestrian Saints in the church of St. Mercurius<br />
Abu's-Saifa in, lift and right sides, showing the<br />
beam's state of preservation in 1990. Photograph<br />
by Ayman el-Kranat, courtesy of the Archive of<br />
the church of St. Mercurius Abu's-Saifain.<br />
Plate 19, right. Detail of the head of Joseph of<br />
Aramathea from Deposition on the upper tier of<br />
the east wall. Photograph courtesy of the Conservation<br />
of Wall Painting Department, Courtauld<br />
Institute of Art, London.
Plate 20. Cross section oj Sample 3, taken<br />
Jrom the olive-green background near the leg<br />
oj Nicodemus in the Deposition on the<br />
east wall. The charcoal black inclusions<br />
within the plaster substrate are clearly visible;<br />
over this, a layer oj natural ultramarine<br />
is present. The present green appearance<br />
is due to the layer oj vivianite on the<br />
suiface oj the sample. Originally a blue color,<br />
some oj the particles have altered to a<br />
yellow color, and in the center oj some oj<br />
the yellow particles, the original blue color<br />
is just discernible. Photograph courtesy oj<br />
the Conservation oj Wall Painting Department,<br />
Courtauld Institute oj Art, London.<br />
Plate 21. Photomicrograph oj sample from<br />
central porch tympanum, Salisbury. Cross<br />
section shows complex structure, representing<br />
several re<strong>paintings</strong> and including vermilion,<br />
red and white lead, iron-oxide red<br />
and yellow, black, blue, and possibly gold.<br />
Plate 22. Photomicrograph oj sample Jrom<br />
Exeter west Jront. Cross section shows pink<br />
primer, white lead, and verdigris top layer.
Plate 23, top. Andrea Mantegna, The<br />
Adoration of the Magi. Distemper on<br />
fine linen, 54.6 X 69 .2 cm. The). Paul<br />
Getty Museum, Malibu (85.PA.417).<br />
Plate 24, lift. Detail from The Adoration<br />
of the Magi, upper lift-hand comer,<br />
showing feathered-out colors on the edges<br />
of the painting, originally under theframe.<br />
The ). Paul Getty Museum, Malibu<br />
(85.PA.417).<br />
Plate 25, above. Detail from The Adoration<br />
of the Magi, lower edge, showing<br />
feathered-out colors on the edges of the<br />
painting, as in Plate 24.
Plate 26, top. Titian, Venus and Adonis. 160 X 196. 5 em. The] . Paul Getty Museum,<br />
Malibu (92.PA.42).<br />
Plate 27, bottom. Titian, Venus and Adonis. 107 X 136 em. Courtesy of the National<br />
Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., Widener Collection (1942.9.84 [PAJ).
Plate 28. Gerard David and Workshop, St. Anne Altarpiece, ca. 1506: lift, St. Nicholas, 236 X 76 cm; center, St. Anne with the<br />
Virgin and Child, 236 X 96 cm; right, St. Anthony of Padua, 235 X 76 cm. Courtesy of the National Gallery of Art, Washington,<br />
D. C. Widener Collection.
Plate 29. Cross sections of the St. Anne Altarpiece, shown in Plate 28. Cross section (a)<br />
through the underdrawing line below the cherub's foot (photographed at X100) shows fo ur<br />
layers: ground, underdrawing, pale gray, and blue-gray. Cross section (b) through a line in<br />
St. Anne's red drapery (photographed at Xl 00) shows multiple layers: ground, type III<br />
underdrawing, two layers of orange red, and multiple layers of red glaze (the layering is not<br />
observable in normal light). Cross section (c) through the "correction" layer in the Virgin's<br />
sleeve (photographed at X 100) shows five layers: ground, underdrawing, pale underpaint,<br />
"correction" layer, and dark violet glaze. Sampling by B. Miller. Cross section (d) through<br />
the Virgin's blue drapery (photographed at Xl 00) shows fo ur layers: ground, underdrawing,<br />
pale blue, and dark blue. Cross section (e) through the dark green part of the cloth of honor<br />
shows seven layers: ground, scattered black particles, blue-green, dark green, dark-green and<br />
green glazes, and discolored varnish. Cross section (f) through St. Anthony's cassock (photographed<br />
at Xl 00) shows three layers: ground, underdrawing, and violet-gray. Sampling by<br />
B. Miller.
Plate 30. Cross section from Baptism,<br />
near an edge: layer 1 (at the bottom), intermediate<br />
white layer, here thicker; layer<br />
2, pink layer with madderlike particles;<br />
layer 3 (on top), white with natural ultramarine.<br />
Photograph by]. R. J. van Asperen<br />
de Boer.<br />
Plate 31. Paint cross section, light green<br />
Jo liage, upper part oj central trees. Workshop<br />
oj Jan Bruegel, Noah's Ark. Layers<br />
Jrom bottom: (1) chalk ground; (2) imprimatura:<br />
red and black in a translucent medium;<br />
(3) sky: white lead, pale smalt,<br />
black; (4) Joliage underpaint: azurite,<br />
earth, white lead, black. Magnifrcation on<br />
35 mmfilm: X64.<br />
Plate 32. Paint cross section (dark sky at<br />
upper edge) from Esaias van de Velde's<br />
Winter Landscape. Layers Jrom bottom:<br />
(1) ground: chalk with white lead, earth,<br />
and black; (2) sky: white lead, smalt, and<br />
earth black; (3) darker sky: smalt and<br />
white lead; (4) overpaint. Magnifrcation<br />
on 35 mm film: X70.
Plate 33. Paul Delaroehe, The Execution of Lady Jane Grey, 1833. Canvas, 246 X 29 7 em. London, National Callery (1909).
Plate 34a, b, c, d. Paint sampLes Jrom<br />
The Execution of Lady Jane Grey: (a)<br />
cross section, pinkish red oj executioner's<br />
tights, original magnification X540; (b)<br />
cross section, grayish shadow on Lady Jane's<br />
dress, original magnification X750;<br />
(c) cross section, red and brown brocade<br />
draped over Lap if seated attendant Left,<br />
originaL magnification X750; (d) unmounted<br />
fragment, bLack oj Sir John Brydges's<br />
gown, photographed from the reverse<br />
at X275.
Plate 35, right. Detail Jrom the lower lifthand<br />
comer oj J. 1'1'1.. W. Turner's The<br />
Dawn of Christianity shows where Turner<br />
used the canvas to try out colors.<br />
Plate 36, below. Detail oj sheep Jrom<br />
William Holman Hunt's Strayed Sheep<br />
(Our English Coasts), 1852. 432 X<br />
584 mm. Courtesy oj the Tate Gallery,<br />
London (N05665).
Plate 37, lift. James Whistler, Arrangement in<br />
Flesh Color and Black: Portrait of Theodore<br />
Duret, 1883-1884, oil on canvas. Wolfe Fund,<br />
Catharine Lorillard Wolfe Collection, 1913<br />
(13.20). © 1984 by The Metropolitan Museum<br />
if Art.<br />
Plate 38, above. Detail of a reflection from Whistler's<br />
Nocturne: Blue and Silver, showing that<br />
the paint has been dragged horizontally when both<br />
the white overpaint and blue underlayer were still<br />
wet, to produce the iffect if light on the water surface.
Abstract<br />
This paper argues for an interdisciplinary<br />
approach to the study of artists'<br />
painting materials and painting<br />
practices. Recent research into British<br />
documentary sources on nineteenth-century<br />
oil painting reveals<br />
information useful in technical examinations<br />
of <strong>paintings</strong>. Examples<br />
illustrate how important a full understanding<br />
of the artist's physical<br />
environment and contemporary beliefs<br />
can be in accurately interpreting<br />
evidence from a painting.<br />
Beyond a Collection of Data: What We Can Learn<br />
from Documentary Sources on Artists' Materials<br />
and Techniques<br />
Leslie A. Carlyle<br />
Canadian Conservation Institute<br />
1030 Innes Road<br />
Ottawa, Ontario KiA OC8<br />
Canada<br />
Introduction<br />
In the preface to the catalogue for the National Gallery of London's exhibition,<br />
Art in the Making: Impressionism, the sponsor remarks, "We see not<br />
just painted surfaces, but are given a multi-disciplined information which<br />
brings the <strong>paintings</strong> themselves to life" (1). The desire to know more about<br />
the whole object, to go beyond the image, the preface continues, to get<br />
"behind the pictures, and even through them," is very much a feature of our<br />
era, just as the delight in finding the "real" information hiding behind our<br />
conventional views fu els so many contemporary investigative endeavors in all<br />
disciplines. Our enthusiasm for complete knowledge is something we have<br />
in common with our predecessors of the late eighteenth century.<br />
Fresh from the age of enlightenment, one author of a late eighteenth-century<br />
technical manual on oil painting writes in his preface (2):<br />
Facts judiciously arranged, and published from time to time as they accumulate,<br />
are productive of infinite advantage . ... Every branch of science<br />
is much fa cilitated and advanced by public communication, which distinctly<br />
points out the present, and opens a free channel to future discoveries . ...<br />
Records oj this kind act, therefore, as stimulants to general improvement:<br />
what is already known need not be retraced, and what is discovered in<br />
future [sic] may be occasionally added: thus, the needy and diffident will<br />
be taught with oeconomy [sic] and ease, and mystery will be unfolded and<br />
converted into truth.<br />
Few today would argue for such a completely linear view of knowledge, but<br />
the desire to "know all" has not left us.<br />
Nineteenth-century technical literature on oil painting materials and practices<br />
shows that the search for and collection of the "facts" was underway in earnest<br />
at that time. By the end of the century, however, we find the optimism<br />
somewhat chastened: all the new chemical knowledge, all the new facts, still<br />
could not provide oil painters with any guarantees, once and fo r all, for the<br />
durability of their work.<br />
A similar sort of optimism existed for those in the twentieth century who<br />
examined the role of science in unraveling the mysteries of oil <strong>paintings</strong>. The<br />
belief was that with enough instruments and enough analysis, we could know<br />
the secrets of the old masters, we could know of what a painting is made.<br />
However, as one of our discipline's critics Michael Daly points out, "Such<br />
technical analysis can only ever say what a material is, never what its purpose<br />
was" (3).<br />
Although scientific instrumental analysis is a highly sophisticated branch of<br />
inquiry in itself, results from it alone are not sufficient. It is only in partnership<br />
with other forms of investigation that we can hope to unravel the meaning<br />
behind what we find through analysis. Now, nearing the end of the twentieth<br />
century, having penetrated much of the "mystery" and converted it into truth,<br />
we find that the gifts of science are not enough. It is to "multidisciplinary<br />
information" that we turn in order to understand the purpose of the materials<br />
we find.<br />
Carlyle 1
Fortunately, the spirit of the eighteenth century in Britain fired a great enthusiasm<br />
for publications on technical matters, including the materials and<br />
techniques of oil painting. Thus, we find a rich source of information in the<br />
various treatises, manuals, and handbooks that continued to be published into<br />
the nineteenth century. The following will be a discussion of the kind of<br />
information these documentary sources can provide and how this information<br />
can influence our interpretation of cross sections and analytical results as well<br />
as fu rther our understanding of painters' techniques.<br />
The painter's environment<br />
The anonymous eighteenth-century author quoted previously placed great<br />
faith in "facts judiciously arranged, and published from time to time as they<br />
accumulate." Yet, however important a discrete piece of information, such as<br />
the date of introduction of a new pigment, may be in the study of painters'<br />
instruction books, it is not always this information that provides insight into<br />
the painter's choice of materials. Sometimes it is the tangential information<br />
about the experience of living at a given time that provides a context fo r<br />
what we observe now.<br />
In cross sections of paint, the build-up of dirt between layers of paint must<br />
be interpreted in relation to past conditions for lighting and heating. We<br />
cannot, based on our present-day experience, extrapolate from the thickness<br />
of a dirt layer the length of time between episodes of painting. Here, those<br />
who study the history of technology and of domestic life are of great help.<br />
In one source on the history of domestic environments, we find that even as<br />
early as 1700 the use of coal fo r heating in London resulted in a "Tartanous<br />
Smoak" that sullied the environment both indoors and out: "All sorts of<br />
Hangings, especially the Tapestry, are in a few Years totally defil'd by it ..."(4).<br />
Because painters who fo llowed the technique of "painting in stages" were<br />
obliged to wait between applications of paint for the underlayers to dry, a<br />
fairly rapid build-up of dirt could be expected under the conditions described,<br />
far more than our late twentieth-century environments would convey.<br />
The level of air pollution in the days of coal heating also caused great concern<br />
among artists and their chemist advisors with regard to the role of lead in<br />
<strong>paintings</strong>. It was thought that the high levels of sulfur in the air caused reactions<br />
with lead-white pigment and with lead-treated oil, resulting in an<br />
overall darkening of these materials due to the reaction product, lead sulfide.<br />
Various solutions to this problem, including the application of nonreactive<br />
zinc white over lead-white underlayers, were recommended. This advice to<br />
apply zinc white over lead white was given not only for paint layers, but fo r<br />
grounds as well; it was believed that a lead-white ground preparation could<br />
also be subject to darkening. Cross sections taken from a painting in which<br />
this advice had been followed show layers of two different white paints, the<br />
presence of which would not be immediately obvious without the knowledge<br />
of the remedial steps taken to obviate the so-called lead-sulfide darkening (5).<br />
Aside from the dirt and soot from coal heat and tallow candles, interior<br />
environments were also substantially colder in the winter months. In the<br />
absence of central heating, painters found that their colors dried significantly<br />
more slowly during the winter months, hence the advice to add materials<br />
that hasten drying at this time of year (see below) .<br />
Beliefs influencing artists' practices<br />
Artists' practices were also influenced by views and beliefs that are foreign to<br />
our era. Conservators have discovered empirically that it was not uncommon<br />
for nineteenth-century painters to use similar varnishes in the paint medium<br />
to those used as a final varnish. In the literature, painters were quite explicit;<br />
they believed that using the same resin in the medium as in the final varnish<br />
would, by ensuring homogeneity of materials, reduce the likelihood of cracking<br />
(6). In a pharmaceutical dictionary and recipe book published in 1764,<br />
2<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
we find a description of the affinity of like materials that could well be the<br />
antecedent of this nineteenth-century practice (7) .<br />
The widespread addition of varnish to the oil painting medium was itself<br />
fostered by the belief that this was the method used by the old masters to<br />
achieve the particular translucent quality observed in their paint (8).<br />
Seeing the past through present-day lenses<br />
David Lowenthal, in his book The Past Is a Foreign Country, wrote (9):<br />
However fa ithfully we preserve, however authentically we restore, however<br />
deeply we immerse ourselves in bygone times, life back then was based on<br />
ways oj being and believing incommensurable with our own. We cannot<br />
help but view and celebrate it through present day lenses.<br />
Just as we can enhance our understanding of artists' practices by learning<br />
more about the implicit assumptions they made based on the beliefs common<br />
to their era, we must be especially careful not to impose our own assumptions<br />
on the past. For example, the identification of fu gitive colors in a nineteenthcentury<br />
painting could lead to the conclusion that the artist knowingly opted<br />
for fugitive colors. Because information regarding which pigments were unstable<br />
was widely available at this time, the presence of these colors in a<br />
painter's work must mean that the painter did not "care" if the colors would<br />
fade. But this is not necessarily true; in fact, the painter may well have conscientiously<br />
purchased stable colors, but may have been unknowingly supplied<br />
with substituted materials by the colormen.<br />
A thorough study of the literature, combined with scientific analyses of paint<br />
samples, revealed that in the nineteenth century the name of a color did not<br />
always offer a reliable indication of composition. Naples yellow is a good case<br />
in point. Traditionally a lead-antimony compound, by the late nineteenth<br />
century Naples yellow was reported to have been substituted with more reliable<br />
coloring agents: lead white and cadmium yellow. But the sample labeled<br />
Naples yellow in a Winsor & Newton oil-sample book actually consisted of<br />
lead white, red lake, and yellow lake. Since nineteenth-century lake colors<br />
were not particularly stable to light, this particular Naples yellow would be<br />
unlikely to retain its hue indefinitely (10).<br />
Documentary research also indicates that media analysis sampling that is restricted<br />
to one color area cannot be assumed to apply to the whole painting.<br />
Early instruction books, in which the artists were still instructed in grinding<br />
their own paint, indicate that the paint medium would be changed according<br />
to the character of the pigment used. Because of its initial yellow color and<br />
because it was believed to after-yellow the most, linseed oil was generally<br />
recommended for dark colors, and the less-colored poppy and nut oils were<br />
reserved for light colors. There were exceptions, however. Lake colors dried<br />
slowly; therefore, linseed oil-the fastest of the three to dry-was recommended<br />
for use with these "light" colors (11). Drying oil in combination<br />
with copal varnish was recommended as the medium for Kings yellow or<br />
orpiment (12). Many other pigments received individual treatment and admixtures<br />
with varnish (13).<br />
As we have seen, the choice of oil depended not only on the pigment used,<br />
but also on the season. Oils treated either by boiling alone or in conjunction<br />
with metallic compounds (driers) to hasten their drying time were sometimes<br />
recommended for the winter months only, when damp, cold weather lengthened<br />
drying time. Conversely, painters were warned that such treated oils<br />
would "in summer ... dry so soon as to be troublesome" (14). Since the<br />
essential nature of oil paint had not changed by the early nineteenth century,<br />
it is not surprising to find this kind of advice appearing in print much earlier.<br />
In 1693 Marshall Smith recommended, "If in the hottest weather your greatest<br />
Dryers dry too fast, as White, Umber, &c and so grow too stiff to work<br />
with, you may prevent it by mixing a little Sallat Oyle with Colours" (15).<br />
Carlyle 3
Just as we cannot extrapolate to the whole painting from media analysis in<br />
one color area alone, documentary sources indicate that the medium could<br />
change not only from color to color, but also from paint layer to paint layer.<br />
Once again, this was not confined to the nineteenth century. Marshall Smith<br />
instructed that lead white be mixed with nut oil, but noted that linseed oil<br />
could be used in dead-coloring (16). Advice to vary the medium according<br />
to the layer continued to appear in the literature, the faster-drying linseed oil<br />
again being recommended for underlayers such as dead coloring, with poppy<br />
or nut oil in the finishing layers (17).<br />
Interestingly, the medium for the first lay or dead coloring need not have<br />
been oil at all. There were references to the use of watercolor, egg tempera,<br />
and a combination of two-thirds starch to one-third oil (18).<br />
Contemporary experience with oil painting materials may also lead to assumptions<br />
that require examination. Today, if we wish to prepare a "traditional"<br />
lead-white ground, the first step would be to size the canvas using a<br />
hide glue such as rabbit-skin or parchment size. Although there are indications<br />
that the use of glue size, including isinglass, was common in the past, this was<br />
not the only material used. Starch was also employed as a size layer and<br />
appears in recipes throughout the nineteenth century. There were also indications<br />
that the addition of a plasticizer or humectant such as honey, sugar,<br />
or glycerine would not have been unusual. Near the end of the century, we<br />
find a reference to the use of collodion (cellulose nitrate) as a replacement<br />
for the size layer (19).<br />
Our present-day lenses can also result in our underestimating the importance<br />
of materials that in our own day are no longer in use or have become precious<br />
and rare. Isinglass, a glue prepared from the swim bladder of the Russian<br />
sturgeon, is not widely available today. In eighteenth- and nineteenth-century<br />
England, isinglass was commonly used for a variety of purposes: to clarifY<br />
beer, wine, and soup, and as a sizing agent for fabric, ribbons, and paper.<br />
Therefore, the presence of what is now quite rare, but was then a relatively<br />
commonplace glue in the size layer for an oil painting, is not surprising.<br />
Another such material that has dropped out of use entirely is sugar of lead<br />
(lead acetate). A white crystalline powder widely used as a drier fo r oil paint,<br />
it was added directly to the pigment-oil mixture and was also present in<br />
medium recipes. Lead acetate could be purchased easily from apothecaries<br />
and appears to have been in wide use by painters in the late eighteenth and<br />
nineteenth centuries. By the twentieth century, however, it was never mentioned<br />
in sources on oil painting materials and techniques, although other<br />
traditional lead driers, such as litharge or metallic lead, do receive notice. As<br />
a result, the important role that this material played has never been acknowledged<br />
or studied in the twentieth century.<br />
Conclusion<br />
Although we must accept Lowenthal's observation that life in the past was<br />
"based on ways of being and believing incommensurable with our own," we<br />
should not see the exercise of studying past practices and materials as fu tile<br />
(20). Rather, we should equip ourselves with the knowledge that we are<br />
handicapped by our late twentieth-century standpoint. By making use of a<br />
variety of disciplines, by not concentrating our energies too much on only<br />
one avenue of inquiry, we can continue the search to "know all." As much<br />
as possible, we should look outside of our immediate disciplines for researchers<br />
who are also mining the past, as it is this multidisciplinary approach that<br />
will enrich our understanding and interpretation of the "facts."<br />
Notes<br />
1. Forester, Sir Archibald. 1990. Sponsor's preface. In Art in the Making: Impressionism,<br />
D. Bomford,]. Kirby, ]. Leighton, and A. Roy. London: The National Gallery<br />
and Yale University Press.<br />
4<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
2. A Practical Treatise on Painting in Oil Colours. 1795. London, v.<br />
3. Daly, M. 1993. The varnished truth. Art Review. Vol. XLV (November): 57.<br />
4. Davidson, C. 1986. A Woman's Work 15 Never Done. London: Chatto & Windus,<br />
132.<br />
5. Carlyle, L., and J. Townsend. 1990. An investigation oflead sulphide darkening<br />
of nineteenth-century painting materials. In Dirt and Pictures Separated, London:<br />
United Kingdom Institute fo r Conservation, 40-43.<br />
6. Carlyle, L. 1990. British nineteenth-century oil painting instruction books: a<br />
survey of their recommendations fo r vehicles, varnishes, and methods of paint<br />
application. In Cleaning, Retouching, and Coatings: Technology of Practice fo r Easel<br />
Paintings and Polychrome Sculpture. London: International Institute for Conservation,<br />
79.<br />
7. "Experiments concur with daily Observation to prove, that different Bodies,<br />
whether Principles or Compounds, have such a mutual Conformity, Relation,<br />
Affinity, or Attraction, as disposes some of them to join and unite together,<br />
while they are incapable of contracting any Union with others. Substances having<br />
an affinity together, will unite and form one Compound. It may be laid<br />
down as a general Rule, that similar Substances have an Affinity with each other,<br />
as Water with Water, Earths with Earths, &c." James, R. 1764. Pharmacopoeia<br />
Universalis: Or, A New Universal English Dispensatory. London, 11.<br />
8. Carlyle, L. 1991. A critical analysis of artists' handbooks, manuals and treatises<br />
on oil painting published in Britain between 1800-1900: with reference to selected<br />
eighteenth-century sources (Ph.D. diss., Courtauld Institute of Art, University<br />
of London), Vol. I, 27-28.<br />
9. Lowenthal, D. 1985. The Past 15 a Foreign Country. Cambridge: Cambridge University<br />
Press, xvi.<br />
10. Townsend, J., L. Carlyle, S. Woodcock, and N. Khandekar. n.d. Later nineteenth-century<br />
pigments: analysis of reference samples, and evidence for adulterants<br />
and substitutions. The Conservator. United Kingdom of Conservation.<br />
Forthcoming.<br />
11. Templeton, J. S. 1846. The Guide to Oil Painting. London, 28.<br />
12. Ibid., 58.<br />
13. Carlyle 1990, op. cit., 76.<br />
14. Williams, W. 1787. An Essay on the Mechanic of Oil Colours . ... Bath, England,<br />
47.<br />
15. Smith, M. 1693. The Art of Painting . ... London, 73.<br />
16. Ibid., 71.<br />
17. For example, "The oils are the mixture of oil and turpentine; and as the portrait<br />
advances towards the finishing sitting, nut or poppy oil may be substituted in<br />
the mixture fo r boiled oil." Cawse, J. 1822. Introduction to the Art of Painting in<br />
Oil Colours. London, 15.<br />
18. Carlyle 1991, op. cit., 288.<br />
19. Ibid., 247.<br />
20. Lowenthal, op. cit.<br />
Carlyle 5
Abstract<br />
Methods of art <strong>historical</strong> research,<br />
painting expertise, and scientific research<br />
can contribute to the detailed<br />
study of painting techniques. Conversely,<br />
the knowledge of painting<br />
techniques could support art <strong>historical</strong><br />
research. The need for collaboration<br />
between individual disciplines<br />
during all stages of research is<br />
strongly stressed, from the initial formulation<br />
of working questions and<br />
hypotheses to final conclusions about<br />
the techniques of an artist.<br />
An Integrated Approach for the Study<br />
of Painting Techniques<br />
Sylvana Barrett and Dusan C. Stulik*<br />
The Getty Conservation Institute<br />
4503 Glencoe Avenue<br />
Marina del Rey, California 90292<br />
USA<br />
Introduction<br />
The study of artists' techniques in general and the study of an individual<br />
artist's techniques in particular are important for several reasons:<br />
(a) Art historians can use detailed knowledge of an artist's technique and its<br />
developmental evolution throughout the artist's career in the authentication<br />
process. This information can also aid in the establishment of a proper chronology<br />
for the known works of a given artist.<br />
(b) Artists of various <strong>historical</strong> periods were able to achieve specific visual<br />
effects by the use of special artists' materials or by methodical application of<br />
proven painting techniques. Because detailed documentation is seldom available<br />
today to help artists learn the steps needed to re-create a given visual<br />
effect, artists must rely on the results of systematic art research to learn old<br />
master techniques.<br />
(c) Museum conservators, in order to ensure a safe working strategy when<br />
planning a conservation or restoration treatment, rely on specific information<br />
about pigments, binding media, and materials, including those of earlier restorations,<br />
as well as detailed knowledge of the structural arrangements of these<br />
materials.<br />
The art historian and art research<br />
The role of the art historian in the realm of art research is critical. It is the<br />
art historian who must set the foundation, into which the information gathered<br />
by individual researchers of a painting-technique research team is organized,<br />
for final interpretation. In the study of painting techniques, two tools<br />
used by art historians are very important: connoisseurship and archival research.<br />
Connoisseurship. Beyond establishment of individual and <strong>historical</strong> chronologies,<br />
connoisseurship itself-the expert knowledge of style and technique that<br />
the art historian develops through the course of a career-is of immense help<br />
in the research of artists' techniques. This keen sense of discrimination can<br />
be used to identify idiosyncrasies particular to a given artist's work. When<br />
drawn from works of undisputed provenance, the art historian can use the<br />
idiosyncrasies to establish a signature of style, materials, and techniques for<br />
any given artist. This "signature style" is critical for researchers in all the<br />
related disciplines. The signature style for a particular artist establishes the<br />
standard of measure against which all data can be judged.<br />
Archival research. The study of primary documents-such as municipal, guild,<br />
or financial records and chronicles in which artists' names can be directly<br />
located-provides crucial information about artists' lives, training, professional<br />
and social standing, and other socio-economic factors that influenced the<br />
development of their working methods and personal painting styles. When<br />
an artist's notes, letters, books, diaries, and travel journals are available, the<br />
study of these materials often provides important information leading to<br />
* Author to whom correspondence should be addressed.<br />
6<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
knowledge and understanding of the artist's intent, as well as the rationale<br />
behind the use of a particular material and painting technique.<br />
The study of primary sources-such as books and treatises on painting, old<br />
recipes for the preparation of artist materials, and guild practices and procedures-can<br />
contribute to our understanding of the artists' working environment.<br />
The study of such documents can be invaluable, but extreme caution<br />
should be applied when interpreting old manuscripts. A number of misunderstandings<br />
have arisen because of the often confusing nomenclature used<br />
in old texts and recipes and the distorted facts found in old biographies of<br />
artists. Even so, the study of secondary documents, such as biographies of<br />
painters, provides important information of the creative, social, and economical<br />
environment in which the artist worked.<br />
Artists and art research<br />
A painting is composed of elements that can be separated for study. As there<br />
are schools of artistic thought, there are schools of painting technique. Each<br />
school of painting technique has a specific procedural approach to painting<br />
construction. Although there are many elements common to all painting<br />
techniques, there are also specific elements unique to each. It is possible to<br />
isolate and define these unique qualities for each technical approach and to<br />
establish markers for a detailed study. These markers, when encountered during<br />
an examination, provide keys to the likely construction of visual effects<br />
within the piece.<br />
An initial, standardized visual examination of a painting by an artist specializing<br />
in painting techniques can id in any art <strong>historical</strong> or subsequent scientific<br />
investigation, not only helping to orient the researcher but also assisting<br />
in the interpretation of the results. If, for example, it was determined through<br />
visual examination that a particular piece was a multilayered, glazed construction<br />
on panel, it might then be assumed, based on knowledge about the<br />
particular technique, that the piece would have an oily imprimatura on a<br />
gesso ground. Knowing this beforehand, a researcher who discovered an oily<br />
component in the ground layer might investigate the possibility of its having<br />
been absorbed from the imprimatura by the lean ground rather than assuming<br />
the discovery of a novel gesso recipe.<br />
Technical approaches used for creating the illusion of volume<br />
A basic goal of all representational artists-to present an illusion of volumeis<br />
accomplished in painting through the juxtaposition of dark and light values,<br />
and of highlights and shadows. This illusion is accomplished traditionally<br />
through one of four basic techniques. A brief analysis of these techniques will<br />
illustrate the possibilities of standardizing the visual examination of <strong>paintings</strong><br />
and the usefulness of the visual markers that can be established as a result of<br />
this approach.<br />
Basic technique. In a direct approach, dark and light values are placed by single,<br />
individual brush marks onto the surface of the painting. There is no blending<br />
of the pigments themselves. Dark values are used to indicate shadow and light<br />
values to indicate highlights, effectively indicating volume. Despite the obvious<br />
simplicity of this approach, it can be highly successful. The tempera<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> of the Italian Trecento illustrate the effectiveness of this technique.<br />
Visual markers for this technique include a uniform surface of clearly defined,<br />
individual brush strokes that retain their original distinct color and do not<br />
physically blend into surrounding pigments (Plate la, b).<br />
Transparent oil technique. This more complex, systematic approach, which was<br />
developed with the advent of transparent oil media, is exemplified by the<br />
Flemish and early Netherlandish masters. These artists conceived of the painting<br />
from its inception as a multilayered object with a structural separation of<br />
color and fo rm. Volume, developed through highlights and shadows in a monochromatic<br />
underpainting, was followed by color embellishments.<br />
Barrett and Stulik 7
Well aware of the optical properties of both light and color, the artist worked<br />
on a highly reflective, white ground layer. The underpainting could be a<br />
complete gray-toned version of the finished image, painted in a manner such<br />
as that described in the preceding basic technique. It could also be constructed<br />
through a more sophisticated technique, as seen in the unfinished panel of<br />
Santa Barbara by Jan van Eyck. An underdrawing, which establishes contours<br />
and darks on the white ground layer, is covered with an imprimatura, a thin,<br />
transparent layer of paint that allows the drawing to show through the ground<br />
while also establishing a middle tone throughout the painting. Highlights<br />
could then be added in white paint where appropriate, thus, with less work,<br />
completing the values and creating a finished monochromatic underpainting.<br />
Regardless of the approach taken toward the underpainting, its creation was<br />
essential to the technique itself. Color applied as thin transparent glazes allowed<br />
the fully developed underpainting to define the fo rms while the color<br />
itself remained clean, pure, and unadulterated. Highlighted areas could be<br />
achieved with the thinnest possible application of local color, as the white of<br />
the underpainting had merely to be tinted appropriately. Dark tones, however,<br />
posed some problems with the clear transparent pigments: many layers were<br />
required to cover the underdrawing and establish the proper local color.<br />
By fo cusing on these highlights and shadows, visual identification of the technique<br />
is quite simple. Highlighted areas are very thin and fine. Color applied<br />
in thin glazes tends to be clear, luminous, and devoid of brush marks. Shadows<br />
and dark colors, however, appear as thickly built-up surfaces, creating ridges<br />
clearly visible in raking light where they come into contact with the delicate<br />
light areas (Plate 2a, b).<br />
Highlighting with impasto white. Allowing a freer painting style and facilitating<br />
larger formats, this more flexible technique is typical of the Baroque masters.<br />
Any support suffices; the underdrawing is optional. The artist tones the surface<br />
with a middle or darker value, then creates the image with an underpainting<br />
of washes that may be controlled or completely free and spontaneous. The<br />
areas of the painting to be highlighted are now created with a heavy impasto<br />
white paint.<br />
This simple procedure accomplishes the same optical effects as the complete<br />
monochromatic underpainting of the previous transparent oil technique, yet<br />
it allows the image to evolve as it is constructed. The continued separation<br />
of value from color still allows for beautiful luminous color. Because the image<br />
originates in the loose, dark washes, contours need not be highly defined and<br />
extreme chiaroscuro is possible. The resulting work is often quite dramatic in<br />
nature.<br />
This technique provides very specific optical markers. The darks are thin and<br />
transparent, often revealing the preliminary wash or imprimatura. The highlights<br />
that define the volume appear thick and visibly raised from the painted<br />
surface (Plate 3a, b).<br />
Direct suiface blending. In the controlled technique of surface blending, individual<br />
colors and values are mixed and applied to appropriate locations of<br />
the surface to indicate highlight and shadow. Each new application of color<br />
is carefully blended into the surrounding paint, resulting in a smooth, continuous<br />
flow. The underdrawing and underpainting serve only as a guide for<br />
the surface painting; they do not actively affect the surface itself.<br />
All traces of brushwork can be blended out if desired; consequently, the technique<br />
lends itself well to smooth, detailed, controlled styles such as found in<br />
the work of the Neoclassicists.<br />
Visual markers fo r the technique include a smooth, continuous surface with<br />
gradual, imperceptible shifts from highlight to shadow. Direct blending of the<br />
pigments creates an opaque quality in contrast to the luminous character of<br />
colors in the multilayered approaches (Plate 4a, b).<br />
8<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Table 1. Scientific methods used Jo r identification oj critical, unaltered parts oj a painting.<br />
M ethod In ormation LimitalJon<br />
observatIOn under UV light I dark areas of repamlJng III - does not worK lor all<br />
comparison wilh light areas<br />
binding media<br />
of heavily oxidized oil paints - possible interference with<br />
(autofluorescence)<br />
some varnishes<br />
UV photography documentation of repainted as above<br />
areas<br />
false color infrared<br />
identification of repainting if only for orientation, should<br />
photography done using pigments of the be confirmed using other<br />
same color but different methods of chemical<br />
chemical composition analysis<br />
X -ray radiography localization of support high contrast only for heavy<br />
alterations, ground and paint chemical elements (Pb, Hg,<br />
layer repairs and alterations Au)<br />
X-ray f1uorescence - identification of repainted - possible difficulties with<br />
spectrometry (XRF) areas if done with inorganic mixed pigments and<br />
pigments of different complex multilayer paint<br />
composi tion than original structure analysis<br />
(e.g., zinc or titanium white - no analytical information<br />
instead of lead white) for low atomic weight<br />
- a non contact analysis elements (Z :$ Na)<br />
microchemIcal methods Identification of repainted - microsampling 01 paint<br />
(polarized light microscopy, areas based on pigment material needed<br />
chemical microscopy, identification - uncertain identification of<br />
electron microprobe, X-ray<br />
some organic pigments and<br />
diffraction)<br />
dyes<br />
The visual traces left by the physical manipulation of painting materials on<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> can be identified fo r study. Idiosyncrasies of color, brushwork, paint<br />
consistency, form, and so on can each be evaluated to reveal specific unique<br />
qualities within given predefined techniques. This information can then be<br />
used for the general analysis of <strong>historical</strong> <strong>paintings</strong>. The works of individual<br />
artists can be analyzed in a similar manner, identifYing a signature style and<br />
painting procedure through specifiC visual clues.<br />
The role of scientific and technical examinations<br />
The process of applying scientific methodology to the study of painting techniques<br />
can be divided into the following three major steps: (1) identification<br />
of the critical (unaltered) parts of the painting, (2) authentication of the painting,<br />
and (3) study of detailed physical and chemical structure of <strong>paintings</strong>.<br />
Identification oj the critical (unaltered) parts of the painting. The majority of <strong>paintings</strong><br />
in museums or private collections have a long history of cleanings, restorations,<br />
and alterations. Before embarking on a study of painting techniques,<br />
it is essential to identifY areas of the painting in which the painting technique<br />
of the original artist has not been altered by later treatments. Scientific methods<br />
for such a study are described briefly in Table 1.<br />
Authentication oj the painting. When a series of <strong>paintings</strong> by a particular artist<br />
is examined with the goal of studying painting techniques, it is crucial that<br />
the authorship of the pieces is established "beyond a reasonable doubt." Scientific<br />
research cannot establish the relationship between the artwork and the<br />
artist. What scientific research can do very successfully is to effectively eliminate<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> that, based on clearly defined scientific facts, could not have<br />
been created during the active life of the artist in question. Several powerful<br />
scientifiC methodologies that can be used to help authenticate <strong>paintings</strong> are<br />
described in Table 2.<br />
Study of detailed physical and chemical structure of <strong>paintings</strong>. Usually, only the top<br />
paint layer, with its corresponding brushwork and surface treatment, is accessible<br />
to visual observation. This is a very severe limitation when studying<br />
painting techniques because before the alia prima technique became widely<br />
used during the second half of the nineteenth century, the majority of <strong>paintings</strong><br />
were created in complex multiple-step and multilayer processes. Table 3<br />
shows several scientific methodologies that can be used in probing and analyzing<br />
such painting structures.<br />
Barrett and Stulik 9
Table 2. Scientific techniques Jor the authentication oj <strong>paintings</strong>.<br />
VISI ble observation and X- visible and hidden tool - knowledge 01 ancient<br />
I Method Inlonnation Limitation<br />
ray radiography marks; materials (machine technologies required<br />
made canvas, nails, etc.) - new repairs may pose a<br />
problem<br />
pigment chronology identification of the - detailed knowledge of<br />
inconsistency studies systematic use of pigments pigment chemistry and<br />
(microchemical methods) in the painting which were technology required<br />
not available in times when - problem of inteIpretation<br />
the painting was presumed when only repainted areas<br />
to be painted<br />
analyzed<br />
- the negati ve resul ts cannot<br />
be considered a certain proof<br />
of authenticity<br />
radiocarbon dating absolute dating method of - does not provide good<br />
the actual age of natural results for materials younger<br />
product organic materials in than 300 years<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> (wood, canvas, - prOblems of impurities<br />
binding media)<br />
dendrochronology or tree absolute dating method quality sample containing a<br />
ring dating actual age of wood sam pIes number of easily measured<br />
tree rings and corresponding<br />
calibration data is needed<br />
INTEGRATED APPROACH<br />
FOR THE STUDY OF<br />
PAINTING TECHNIQUES<br />
Figure 1. Diagram of integrated approach for<br />
the study of painting techniques.<br />
Conclusion<br />
Art historians, conservation scientists, and artists use different means to study<br />
artists' techniques. Each of their approaches can contribute valuable information<br />
about the painting techniques of an individual artist, a school, or<br />
an art <strong>historical</strong> period or movement. But each approach leaves something<br />
unexplained, something missing from the whole picture that encompasses<br />
everything from the artist's brushwork to preference for certain materials and<br />
formulas. To provide a real understanding of artists' techniques, it is necessary<br />
to establish a close collaboration between all the above-mentioned disciplines,<br />
not only to secure a more complete set of data but, more importantly, to<br />
stimulate interdisciplinary formulation of more holistic answers about artists'<br />
techniques (Fig. 1). A painting should not be studied by individual specialists<br />
from each discipline, but rather by representatives of all disciplines who view<br />
Table 3. Scientific methods used Jo r the analysis oj painting structures.<br />
Method In onnation Llmltallon<br />
mfrared refiectography Identillcation and study of I difficult to Idenllly<br />
underdrawing<br />
underdrawing beneath thick<br />
layer of IR-opaque paint<br />
layer<br />
X-ray radiography study of support, lead white - superimposition of several<br />
underpainting, brushwork, layers of painting in one<br />
and changes in composition X-ray radiograph<br />
- difficult inteIpretation for<br />
features done in organic<br />
materials or pigments of low<br />
atomic number<br />
X-ray tomography detailed study of individual - methodology under<br />
paint layers<br />
development<br />
- high cost<br />
- problem of interpretation<br />
when individual paint layers<br />
are of uneven thickness<br />
cross section analysis detailed material - cross section sample<br />
(microchemical methods, IR identification (pigments, needed<br />
microscopy) binding media) and - high cost of analysis<br />
sequence of individual paint - positive identification of<br />
and material layers of the some organic pigments<br />
painting<br />
might need additional<br />
sampling, followed by<br />
organic microchemical<br />
analysis<br />
- additional sampling might<br />
also be needed for detailed<br />
analysis of binding media<br />
using gas chromatography -<br />
mass spectrometry<br />
10<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
the painting together, share background information, and actively collaborate<br />
in formulating a working hypothesis, work strategy, and research goals. Successful<br />
research calls fo r broad international and multidisciplinary collaboration<br />
when art technique findings are used for authentication purposes.<br />
Barrett and Stulik 11
Abstract<br />
This paper provides an overview of<br />
technical aspects of the search for<br />
verisimilitude in seventeenth-century<br />
Italian painting. In particular the role<br />
of varnishing will be examined in<br />
relation to technical problems caused<br />
by absorbing grounds. In addition,<br />
some theories on viewing distance<br />
and lighting will be discussed.<br />
Varnish, Grounds, Viewing Distance, and Lighting:<br />
Some Notes on Seventeenth-Century Italian<br />
Painting Technique<br />
Helen Glanville<br />
au Fourquet 471 20<br />
Pardaillan<br />
France<br />
Introduction<br />
In the sixteenth century, the dichotomy between Disegno and Colore, between<br />
Titian and Raphael, was seen as one between those artists who chose to<br />
imitate nature and those who chose the Antique as their model. In the seventeenth<br />
century, this dichotomy could be reduced, simplistically speaking, to<br />
two groups of artists: those who were more strongly influenced by Raphael<br />
and the Antique and who painted with a smoother, apparently more finished<br />
technique; and those who were more influenced by Titian and the Venetian<br />
school of painting and the more open texture that accompanied this type of<br />
representation of naturalistic effect-what Poussin's friend Du Fresnoy termed<br />
"the great Lights and Shadows, the Effect of the whole together" (1). These<br />
two tendencies have been seen to coexist through the end of the nineteenth<br />
century.<br />
Although these two schools differed in their approaches to handling paint,<br />
they both subscribed to the idea that painting should be the representation<br />
of natural appearances on a flat surface; and most importantly, that through<br />
this representation the public should be able to grasp a higher and greater<br />
truth. Ideas as to what form this imitation of nature should take varied, but<br />
the essential concept can be found in the writings of theorists as divergent<br />
in other respects as the arch-Venetian Boschini and Bellori, the epitome of<br />
Roman Classicism (2, 3).<br />
The first Academy of Painting, founded in 1586 by the Carracci in Bologna,<br />
was crucial to the development of painting in seventeenth-century Italy. Painters<br />
such as Domenichino, Reni, Albani, and Guercino (as well as Annibale<br />
Carracci) who had come to Rome after training at the Carracci Academy<br />
profoundly influenced their contemporaries in Rome. They brought not only<br />
the teachings of their masters (i.e., that the painter had to emulate nature<br />
accurately on a flat surface, while also illustrating the essence, the "Truth," of<br />
what was depicted, that which was beyond simple appearances). This concept,<br />
essential to painting in its newly reacquired status as a liberal art, was also in<br />
complete accordance with the tenets laid down by the Counter-Reformation.<br />
Two camps emerged concurrently: those who described the thing itself, and<br />
those who described the impression on the beholder.<br />
St. Philip Neri and Paleotti both required that artists, through verisimilitude<br />
or realistic representation, appeal to the hearts and minds of the people.<br />
This paper provides an overview of technical aspects of the search fo r verisimilitude<br />
in seventeenth-century Italian painting. In particular the role of<br />
varnishing will be examined in relation to technical problems caused by absorbing<br />
grounds. In addition, some theories on viewing distance and lighting<br />
will be discussed.<br />
The use of varnish<br />
Andre Felibien, who moved in the artistic circles of Rome in the 1640s and<br />
who was a friend of Poussin, Guercino, and Cigoli, and probably knew Galileo,<br />
wrote, "When a work is painted to the last degree of perfection, it can<br />
be considered from close to [sic]: it has the advantage of appearing stronger<br />
and three-dimensional" (4). This same effect, wrote Felibien, can be created<br />
12<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
y distance with "the aid of the air interposed between the eye and the object,<br />
using different distances," or by the application of a varnish "which is why<br />
we cover <strong>paintings</strong> with a varnish that blunts that brightness and sharp edge<br />
[qui emousse cette pointe brillante et cette vivacite] which at times appears too<br />
strongly or unevenly in freshly painted works; and this varnish gives them<br />
more strength and softness [douceur]. ... We use all these different methods<br />
to give painted objects that relief, that roundness that they require in order<br />
to resemble what one is imitating" (5).<br />
Marco Boschini, the Venetian art theorist who in 1660 published his poem<br />
on the art of painting, "La Carta del Navigar Pitoresco," had a low opinion<br />
of the glossy varnishes which he says "foreigners" used: "They make such a<br />
commotion about it, that it would seem that gloss is the only beauty, and<br />
varnish the apogee of art" (6). Later in the poem, he makes the distinction<br />
that is central to artistic theory and to seventeenth-century Italian artists in<br />
Venice as well as Rome. Comparing the aforementioned "foreigners," Boschini<br />
praises the Venetian painter fo r imitating the effects of gloss (in armour<br />
and mirrors) in paint, rather than resorting to the use of varnish to produce<br />
this effect physically on the painting's surface, writing, "Ii ha fatti straluser co'i<br />
colori" (he has made them gleam with his paints).<br />
As Boschini wrote, "diligent painting can be copied," but not what he termed<br />
the colpi di dottrina (which rather defies translation). It is the element of skill<br />
that is paramount, rather than the materials.<br />
A high-gloss varnish may have been a requirement of northern seventeenthcentury<br />
artists, at least according to Boschini, but this paper investigates the<br />
role played by varnish in Italian <strong>paintings</strong> of the same period, both those<br />
requiring "close scrutiny" and those "made to be seen from afar," as Horace<br />
discussed, distinguishing these two kinds of fundamentally different <strong>paintings</strong>,<br />
when pleading for flexibility in the judgment of poetry, saying that it should<br />
be judged like painting which exhibits not only a detailed style that requires<br />
close scrutiny, but also a broad impressionistic style that will not please unless<br />
viewed from a distance (7).<br />
Interesting information on the use of varnish in seventeenth-century Italian<br />
painting can be gained from the highly illuminating lecture entitled "II Lustrato"<br />
delivered on 29 December 1691 by Filippo Baldinucci to his colleagues<br />
at the Accademia della Crusca in Florence. He dealt with the subject of<br />
varnish in contemporary painting as opposed to its use in ancient times and<br />
in the fourteenth century (8):<br />
VVhat we are told oj the practices oj painters in antiquity leads us to believe<br />
that they did not use oil as their medium; what we are told oj the practice<br />
oj Apelles always remains with me, that is, that he fo und a certain dark<br />
color [9], or maybe a varnish, which no one was able to imitate. This<br />
varnish he applied to his works after he had finished them, and with such<br />
a skill that the bright colors did not offe nd the eye and appeared from afa r<br />
as through a glass (and please take note of this detail). Harsh colors acquired<br />
through it an element of austerity, oj saturation. This is precisely what our<br />
painters in the fo urteenth century did, bifore the discovery of oil as a<br />
medium; that is, they applied a varnish to their panels, which was of a<br />
composition that gave their languished <strong>paintings</strong> a certain depth and added<br />
strength, and by dimming the overpowering highlights, brought the whole<br />
closer to natural appearances. And then if you hear it told that modern<br />
painters sometimes also use a varnish on their oil <strong>paintings</strong>, I reply that<br />
such practice (which is con f ined to a few painters) is not to make up a<br />
deficiency in oil painting-that is, to bring depth to the dark colors, and<br />
render the highlights softer and less garish-things of which oil painting<br />
has no need, but rather to remedy an accidental mishap. This can occur<br />
because oj the imprimatura, the paint mixture which one applies to the<br />
canvases or panels, or because oj a difect of the canvases or panels themselves.<br />
They attract the oil liquid so strongly, almost stealing it from the<br />
Glanville 13
paint, that the paint remains drained [prosciugato], so that it can no<br />
longer be seen evenly on the suiface, as would have been the case when<br />
such an accident would have been prevented. By means oj another unctuous<br />
substance, which is the varnish, applied to those areas where the oil is<br />
missing on the suiface (and this is the crux of the matter), the dark colors<br />
are made to reappear. These are the dark pigments which are really present<br />
in the oil painting, not those darks that just appear dark but are not<br />
physically present, as was in fa ct the iff ect created by Apelles's varnish in<br />
some very small areas on his <strong>paintings</strong>.<br />
Many of Baldinucci's points require and deserve investigation; I will confine<br />
myself to examining his assertion that varnish in his time was applied as a<br />
retouching remedy locally rather than over the whole work (as the oil medium<br />
itself provided the saturation required to "bring the whole closer to<br />
natural appearances"). I shall also fo llow up his point linking this localized<br />
"sinking-in" with absorbency of the ground layer.<br />
We are indebted to the Englishman Richard Symonds, an amateur painter<br />
who spent 1646-1647 in Rome, fo r the very detailed and painstaking notes<br />
he took while watching Gian Angelo Canini painting in his studio. Canini<br />
was a fr iend of Poussin's, and like the latter, trained in Domenichino's studio<br />
in Rome.<br />
Symonds describes on several occasions that portions of Canini's <strong>paintings</strong><br />
were "sinking in" (prosciugated), and he also described the remedies that<br />
Canini applied. Giving an account of the painting of a portrait of Sir Thomas<br />
Killigrew, he describes how: "the face and field were prosciugated ... nitwithstanding<br />
oyle was putt upon the back side of the cloth." This he blamed<br />
on the fact that the "cloth" (and he marked "imprimatura" in the margin)<br />
"was not as perfectly dry as it ought. I askt him how he would fetch the<br />
colour of the face, he sayd he would give it a semplice chiara d'uovo [eggwhite]<br />
beaten together . .. or olio di sasso, another varnish" (10).<br />
Elsewhere, Symonds describes Robert Spenser's portrait, painted in one sitting<br />
by Canini (1 1):<br />
The scaife which was crimson he did with lacca / biacca Qake and lead<br />
white]. The whole scaife being done, and afo re it was dry he putt on gold<br />
colour for the fringe, all which kept his fresh colour and needed no varnish.<br />
Not three days after, when one would thinke it was scarce dry he with a<br />
pencill of setola [hog] putt on his varnish over the first field & face &<br />
Armour & hands, but not the scaife or benda, / this kind of varnish he<br />
esteemed above that of Olio di Sasso.<br />
For the preferred varnish, he gives the following recipe on f.20: "2 oz. of<br />
seven times distilled aquavita (spirits of wine) 112 oz. of ground sandarac<br />
112 oz. of olio d'Abezzo [Strasbourg Turpentine]." This "final" varnish was<br />
only applied to those areas which he felt required it. He was also quite clear<br />
that certain pigments should not be varnished.<br />
Symonds questioned Canini about the sky in a monumental painting that he<br />
executed on the subject of Anthony and Cleopatra: "2 days after the Azzurro<br />
ayre was dry, and I askt him what if it should prosciugare [sink in], so much<br />
the better said he, because you never put vernish over azzurro" (12).<br />
The reason for this answer may be in the yellowing characteristics of the<br />
varnish or in a deliberate choice fo r the matte quality of the blue with a<br />
consequent increase in scattered reflection, and of the white component in<br />
light. This effect, to be avoided in darks, but desirable for achieving the effects<br />
of aerial perspective, was advised by Leonardo in his treatise on painting. One<br />
should not forget that all the artists in Poussin's circle had a strong interest in<br />
optical matters, and studied mathematics and optics with the best mathematicians;<br />
in addition, Galileo moved in this same circle.<br />
Canini was also aware that certain pigments, such as blacks, caused problems<br />
by drying matte: "Black, even varnished, sinks in," meaning that unless cor-<br />
14<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
ected, shadows would appear matte and therefore cool and come forward<br />
rather than giving the intended effects of depth (13).<br />
Armenini is also aware of this problem. In his De' veri precetti della pittura<br />
(1587), speaking of shadows and contours he says: "They never remain sufficiently<br />
finished ... but will always sink in, or the darks become cruder so<br />
that it is necessary to come back to them many times in order to make them<br />
fresh, blended, soft, and pleasing" (14).<br />
Absorbency of the grounds<br />
The problem of overabsorbent grounds, which is identified by Baldinucci as<br />
the cause for localized applications of varnish, is also a problem that reoccurs<br />
in Symonds's notes and obviously concerned Canini and presumably the other<br />
artists in this circle.<br />
Almost all of the samples taken from <strong>paintings</strong> produced in central Italy circa<br />
1600-1800 showed the presence of chalk in varying but significant proportions.<br />
Sometimes chalk was found as a single ground layer, as in the case of<br />
Domenichino's Vision of St. Jerome of 1603 (National Gallery, London); in<br />
Annibale Carracci's Boy Drinking (Christ Church Gallery, Oxford) which<br />
probably dates from the end of the sixteenth century; and in the much later<br />
Cavallino, Christ Driving the Traders from the Temple (National Gallery, London).<br />
This type of ground derives from Venetian painting and is found, for instance,<br />
in Titian's Madonna and Child (ca. 1525), in which what appears to be the<br />
dark ground is in fact the saturated color of the canvas. The refractive index<br />
of chalk is so low that it is almost completely transparent when associated<br />
with oil.<br />
Not enough analyses have been carried out to ascertain whether the chalk<br />
was applied in an aqueous or oil medium. More often the chalk is found<br />
mixed with earth pigments and small inclusions of other pigments such as<br />
charcoal black, or with driers such as lead white or an umber, as is the case<br />
with Caravaggio's works in the National Gallery in London (15). In a thin<br />
section taken from Poussin's Finding of Moses (National Gallery, London), one<br />
can see that the absorbency of the ground was recognized and an isolating<br />
oil layer applied. The sample was taken from a blanched area, in which both<br />
the ground and the paint film were very lean. Interestingly enough, in other<br />
areas containing lead white, the paint film was less lean and less absorbent.<br />
Symonds wrote, "It is good to give a mano [hand] of gesso first, and then oil<br />
on top." Earth from which bricks are made is ground and used for the imprimatura,<br />
Symonds wrote, recording the recipe for the ground favored by<br />
Canini: After sizing the canvas, he applied a mixture of "red earth, a little<br />
white lead, a little charcoal black, and chalk" (16). Until now the latter seemed<br />
always to have been interpreted as white clay, although brick clay seems perfectly<br />
adequate. This mixture was applied to the canvas in an oil medium.<br />
The absorbency of the ground seems to have been both feared (because of<br />
the problem of sinking in) and desired (because it kept the colors fresh) . As<br />
Symonds wrote, "These cloths that have gesso in their imprimatura-the<br />
gesso makes the colour keep fresher and does drink up the evil of the oil,<br />
but they crack sooner, and that is the worse of the gesso" (17). The sinkingin<br />
of colors, Symonds's "prosciugare," seems to be linked in their minds to<br />
the poor drying of the ground, either because the commercial primer left<br />
out the lead white for economy's sake (18), which seems to reduce the porosity<br />
of the paint film, or because it had not dried sufficiently before the<br />
painting was executed.<br />
Then, as today, the poor drying qualities of earth pigments were recognized<br />
but not fully understood. From analyses we know that when the pigment in<br />
the oil film is an earth color, there is a surprisingly high percentage of scission<br />
Glanville 15
products in the dried oil film (19). These short-chain scission products, by<br />
giving the structure a swollen matrix, confer flexibility to the oil film. Earth<br />
pigments are then particularly suitable as grounds on flexible supports. To<br />
speed the drying process of these grounds, artists advocated the use of prepolymerized<br />
oil (20).<br />
Most of the inorganic components of these colored grounds are hygroscopic<br />
and are not easily wetted by organic media. Free fa tty acids in the oil would<br />
act as surface active agents, and therefore an unpolymerized oil would be<br />
preferable to ensure wetting of the particles and pigment aggregates.<br />
Groen and Burnstock have fo und air pockets with earth pigments bound in<br />
unpolymerized linseed oil (21, 22). This problem can only be aggravated by<br />
the use of an oil with a reduced proportion of free fatty acids (23). The<br />
presence of air pockets makes the ground porous, causing the paint layers<br />
above to "sink in" as the paint medium is drawn down into the absorbent<br />
ground.<br />
Speedy drying achieved by applying the ground as an emulsion, as advocated<br />
in Pierre Lebrun's Treatise, would also result in a porous film because of the<br />
voids formed during evaporation of the aqueous phase (24). The absorbency<br />
of the ground would be particularly problematic with artists such as Guercino<br />
who, in his first phase, painted aUa prima, using the dark ground fo r his<br />
shadows and often applying only one layer of paint. Malvasia, describing<br />
Guercino's technique before the artist left fo r Rome, says that Guercino had<br />
"an extraordinary speed of execution, in one go laying-in (bozzando) and<br />
finishing" (25). In the case of Guercino, the complaints came from his clients<br />
who felt that since they paid Guercino by the figure, they wanted to see the<br />
whole figure, not one in which more than half was drowned in shadow.<br />
Lanfranco and later Giordano were also known for their speed of execution.<br />
This speed was castigated by most art theorists, because it was seen as pratica,<br />
simple manual facility rather than the fruit of matured intellectual thought<br />
and skill.<br />
Exposed or thinly covered porous grounds would pose a problem when it<br />
came to varnishing (for the restorer as well as the artist), but grounds suffering<br />
from what the French call lithargeage present a similar problem in appearance.<br />
The coarsely ground lead white would present a less absorbent ground, but<br />
the rough granular surface scatters light, obscuring detail in the worst cases<br />
and flattening the composition. Many seventeenth-century <strong>paintings</strong> suffer<br />
from this problem (26).<br />
Viewing distance and lighting<br />
It is clear that in a painting such as Guido Reni's Abduction of Helen (Louvre),<br />
which does not depend on the warmth of its shadows for the depiction of<br />
depth and its illusion of space but rather on what Leonardo termed aerial<br />
perspective and the diminution of colors, the impact oflithargeage is minimal,<br />
and saturation of the picture surface not essential.<br />
This is the case with <strong>paintings</strong> of what I have termed the "high finish" school;<br />
that is, those by painters who did not paint alIa prima, nor availed themselves<br />
in the Venetian manner of the artifice of large areas of shadow and light, but<br />
rather achieved the illusion of space through "the diminution of the hues, as<br />
much through their quality as through their strength" (27).<br />
The relative importance of saturation in <strong>paintings</strong> that rely on their dark<br />
ground for illusion of space was especially visible in a recent exhibition of<br />
Neapolitan painting in Bordeaux. Two <strong>paintings</strong> by Caravaggio were hung<br />
next to each other. One was a privately owned Doubting Thomas, with a high<br />
gloss varnish, and the other painting was a Salome with the Head of St. John<br />
the Baptist (National Gallery, London), which had a much more matte appearance<br />
(28).<br />
16<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
The differences in saturation, clearness of detail, and illusion of space were<br />
very clear at a normal viewing distance. If one stepped back far enough to<br />
be able to see both <strong>paintings</strong>, the detail and saturation of the two works<br />
appeared to be the same, and both surfaces had a matte appearance. The very<br />
effect of the air interposed between the eye and the object was alluded to by<br />
Felibien. According to this phenomenon, first objectively described and explained<br />
by Leonardo, objects in the distance will appear more blue because<br />
of the interposition of the tiny particles contained in the air.<br />
The warming, darkening effect of varnish, that of light transmitted through<br />
the varnish, will be counteracted by the blue quality of the reflected light.<br />
This means that with <strong>paintings</strong> executed to be seen at a distance, a glossy<br />
saturated varnish would be unnecessary; at the correct viewing distance, the<br />
painting will appear somewhat matte.<br />
Boschini, characteristically, writes, "Do you think painting is enjoyed more<br />
directly under the eye or from an appropriate distance? Certainly at a distance;<br />
because once you have hung the pictures and placed them at the wanted<br />
height, there's no reason for you to go clambering up there" (29).<br />
Another variable that is too infrequently considered when exhibiting <strong>paintings</strong><br />
is the lighting. Paintings from that period were never painted in uniform<br />
daylight, nor were they to be seen in such conditions. Daylight would have<br />
been directional, and artificial light would have been warm candlelight. Restorers<br />
sometimes have the opportunity oflighting the painting with tungsten<br />
lights from the direction in which the painting was executed, and the effect<br />
in increased naturalism and illusion of space can be quite dramatic (30).<br />
This is not a new observation. In 1628, in a text on the artist Cigoli, the<br />
biographer Commodi wrote about Cigoli's Martyrdom of St. Lawrence: "It<br />
appeared much more admirable in the room in which it was painted which,<br />
receiving little light through a small window, was indeed in proportion both<br />
with the handling and with what was represented in the scene. Having seen<br />
the painting in this room several times, and seeing it again in the open air,<br />
he said to himself 'This just is not the same, even though everyone praises it<br />
also out here' " (31).<br />
Viewing distance is also crucial for works executed with a painting method<br />
that defies legibility at close scrutiny. This is what we now may revere as the<br />
"magic" of painting, but to Poussin and his circle it came close to pratica,<br />
manual skill not guided by the intellect and therefore "inferior" and not<br />
worthy of painting as a liberal art.<br />
Rather surprisingly, Bellori appreciated the skill involved in producing effects<br />
to be appreciated from a distance. In his biography ofLuca Giordano, speaking<br />
of a sotto-in-su figure of Christ, he describes how Giordano would constantly<br />
descend from the scaffolding to check on the effect of his painting and the<br />
"huge brush strokes" and "coarse and garish highlights in the blue drapery,"<br />
which the distance of the eye blends and harmonizes together so beautifully<br />
and makes one understand how great his mastery is" (32).<br />
Boschini's poem, a eulogy of Venetian painting and technique, extols the<br />
macchia of which the "high finishers" are so scornful. He carefully distinguishes<br />
this from the rapid, sketchy alla prima technique he terms prontezza (33). He,<br />
too, emphasizes the skill involved, rather than the material aspect. The Venetian<br />
macchia "is what unites the wet paint with the dry paint beneath,<br />
which is so important to the beauty of this way of painting" (34).<br />
Like Armenini and Felibien, he emphasizes the handling of the paint and the<br />
color, rather than its nature and strongly argues that painting should appeal<br />
to the mind and not the eye-that the spectator must see the hand inside<br />
the glove, while the eye only sees the glove (35, 36).<br />
This brings us back to the essential message of the Counter-Reformation<br />
and of the new stature of painting as a liberal art: to convey essential truths<br />
Glanville 17
epresentationally so as to appeal to the heart and mind as well as to the<br />
senses. As Horace said, "Painting should instruct as well as delight by the two<br />
ways open to it: close scrutiny or distant viewing."<br />
Notes<br />
1. Du Fresnoy, C. 1750. Observations on the Art of Painting. Dryden translation, first<br />
published in 1667.<br />
2. Boschini, M. 1660. La Carta del Navegar Pittoresco. Venice.<br />
3. Bellori, G. P. 1672. Le vite de' Pittori, Scultori e Architetti Moderni, first published<br />
in 1672. Pis a 1821 edition.<br />
4. Felibien, A. 1685. Entretiens sur les vies et les ouvrages des plus excellents peintres<br />
anciens et modernes, 2nd ed. Paris. Vo!' 2, Entretien VII:240.<br />
5. Ibid., 242.<br />
6. This passage in a different translation is quoted by Robert Ruuhrs in his article<br />
"Matte or glossy? Varnish for oil <strong>paintings</strong> in the seventeenth century," which<br />
appeared in an English translation in the ICA Newsletter, Oberlin, Ohio: November<br />
1985. The article was originally published in Maltechnik-Restauro in July 1983:<br />
"E i forestieri certo in quela parte / Fa tanto cavedal, che la lustrezza / A lori<br />
ghe par l'urUca belezza. / Ghe par che la sigila tuta l'arte."<br />
7. Horace. Ars Poetica. 361. See Lee, R. W 1940. Ut pictura poesis: the humanistic<br />
theory of painting. The Art Bulletin (XXII).<br />
8. Baldinucci, F. 1692. II Lustrato. Paper presented at the Accademia della Crusca<br />
29 December 1691 and 5 January 1692. Florence. On page 25: "Trovansi bene<br />
notizie di Pittori antichi, che fanno credere, che tale uso non vi fosse; fra Ie quali<br />
potra sempre appresso di me cio che fu scritto d' Apelle, cioe, ch' egli fu ritrovatore<br />
d'un certo color bruno, 0 vernice che si fosse, la quale rUuno seppe imitare, e<br />
davala all'opere dopo averle finite; e che servivane con tanto giudizio, che i colori<br />
accesi la vista non offendevano, facendoli vedere da lungi come per un vetro (e<br />
notate questa particolarita) e che Ie tinte lascive, mediante quella acquistavano<br />
un certo che d'austero, 0 di scuro, che e tutto quello appunto, che facevano i<br />
nostri pittori del 1300, avanti il ritrovamento della tempera coll'olio, cioe, che<br />
davano sopra Ie tavole una vernice, che era una certa mestura, che alia loro<br />
dilavata pittura un certo che di pili profondo, e di forza maggiore aggiungeva,<br />
ed il soverchio chiaro alquanto smorzando, riduceva a maggior somiglianza del<br />
naturale ...." On page 31: "Se poi sara detto, che i moderni Pittori usano anch'essi<br />
talvolta vernice sopra Ie lor pitture a olio, io rispondo, che tale usanzach'e<br />
di pochi-non e per supplire al mancamento della pittura a olio, cioe, per<br />
render pili profondi gli scuri, e i chiari pili mortificati, e pili carnosi, cose tutte<br />
delle quali la pittura a olio non ha bisohno rna bensi per rimediare ad un'accidental<br />
disgrazia, che occorre taJora a cagione dell'imprimatura, mestica, 0 altro<br />
che dassi sopra Ie tele, 0 tavole, 0 pure proviene dalle medesime tele, 0 tavole,<br />
cioe d'atrarre cosi forte il liquido dell'olio, quasi rubandolo al colore, ch'e' venga<br />
in qualche luogo prosciugato per modo, ch'e' non possa farsi vedere in superficie<br />
per tutto ugualmente, com'egli avrebbe fa tto col cessare di tale accidente; con<br />
che per mezzo d'un'altra cosa untuosa, che e la vernice data dove I'olio in<br />
superficie manco, fassi apparire (e questo e il punto stretto e forte) con che fassi<br />
apparire 10 scuro, che gia nella pittura fatta a olio veramente e, non quello che<br />
non v'e, ch'era appunto l'effetto, che in qualche piccolissima parte faceva aile<br />
sue pitture la Vernice d'Apelle."<br />
9. In Italian, the word used is bruno. It should be noted that imbrunire is the word<br />
used for burnishing gold, that is, making it darker and increasing its sheen.<br />
10. Beal, M. 1984. A Study of Richard Symonds: His Italian Notebooks and Their Relevance<br />
to Seventeenth-Century Painting Techniques. New York: Garland Publishing,<br />
fo!' 46.<br />
11. Ibid., fo!' 143.<br />
12. Ibid., fo!' 75.<br />
13. Ibid., fo!' 25.<br />
14. Armenini, G. B. 1587. De veri precetti de la pittura. Ravenna.<br />
15. A good example can be found in Caravaggio's Boy with Lizard. National Gallery,<br />
London.<br />
16. Symonds in Beal, op. cit., fo!' 10. "Terra Rossa, biacca da corpo a little. Creta<br />
un tantino, negro Carbone. He complayned the ordinary imprimers putt in no<br />
biacca."<br />
17. Ibid.<br />
18. Ibid.<br />
18<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
19. White, R. Personal communication. National Gallery, London. I am indebted to<br />
Raymond White for much enlightening discussion around the subject.<br />
20. Symonds, op.cit., fol. 10. "To make imprimatura wich shall stand abroad in ye<br />
ayre, tis best to use olio Cotto. Also tis good dare una mano di gesso prima /<br />
poi oglio suopra."<br />
21. Groen, K. 1988. Scanning electron microscopy as an aid in the study of blanching.<br />
Hamilton Kerr Institute Bulletin 1 :48-65.<br />
22. Burnstock, A. An examination of blanching in the green paints from a selection<br />
of seventeenth-century French School <strong>paintings</strong>. Ph.D. diss. Courtauld Institute<br />
of Art, London.<br />
23. Groen, op. cit.<br />
24. Lebrun, P. 1635. Recueuil des essaies des merveilles de la peinture. In Merrifield,<br />
M. p. 1849. Original Treatises on the Arts of Painting. Vol. II. London:John Murray,<br />
759-841. On page 821: "To prime a canvas quickly, so that a person may paint<br />
on it the same day that it has been primed, you must grind together some<br />
parchment glue and oil priming, and immediately prime the canvas with this; it<br />
will harden directly, but the priming is apt to scale off when the canvas is rolled<br />
up."<br />
25. Malvasia. 1646. Vite di Pittori Bolognesi. Unpublished addenda. In Sce/te di curiosita<br />
letterarie, inedite 0 rare dal XIII al XIX, ed. Adriana Arfelli. Speaking of<br />
Guercino's Circumcision in the Chiesa delle Monache di Gesu Maria in Bologna<br />
which was executed overnight: "La sua formidabil velocita nell'operare, e alla<br />
prima bozzando, e fmendo nello stesso tempo."<br />
26. For instance, Caravaggio's Salome with the Head of St. John the Baptist (National<br />
Gallery London) and Mattia Pretis's The Beheading of St. John the Baptist (National<br />
Gallery of Ireland, Dublin).<br />
27. Felibien, op. cit., Entretien VIII, 401. "[L]a diminution des teintes ... autant par<br />
la qualite que par la force des couleurs."<br />
28. Either an optical effect due to the pronounced lithargeage of the ground or the<br />
inherent matte appearance of the varnish itself.<br />
29. Boschini, op. cit., 295. "Credela che se goda la Pitura / Piu soto l'ochio, 0 in<br />
debita distanza? / Certo in distanza debita: perche / Quando have messi i quadri,<br />
e situdi / In l'altezza de iluoghi destinadi, / Non e rason, che la ve rampeghe."<br />
30. This was the case during the examination of Gainsborough's The Linley Sisters<br />
in the Dulwich Picture Gallery. Gainsborough had painted the portrait with the<br />
light coming from the left through holes he had drilled in his shutters! See<br />
Glanville, H. 1988. Gainsborough: Artist or Artisan? (original unedited version).<br />
In A Nest of Nightingales, s.l. exhibition catalogue.<br />
31. Biography of Ludovico Cardi, in Cardi, G. B. 1628. II Cigoli. Florence, 19.<br />
"[M]olto piu ammirabil si rendeva in quella stanza dove fu lavorata, la qual per<br />
una picciol finestra ricevendo poco lume era appunto proporzionato et alla maniera<br />
et a quello che nella storia si rappresentava; et avendola ivi veduta piu volte,<br />
e, rivedendola poi all' aria aperta, diceva fra se: questa non e quella, sebbene quivi<br />
ancora lodata da tutti."<br />
32. Bellori, op. cit. Vita di Luca Giordano, 51. "[E]ssendo il tutto condotto con grossi<br />
trattizzi ne' contorni, e cosi anche il Cristo, benche sia alquanto piu terminato,<br />
come figura principale del soggetto, ne! cui panno azzurro si veggono chiari<br />
terribili di biacca imbrattata di carnatura, con tratti di pennello piu grossi, il quale<br />
unisce ed accorda tanto bene con la distanza dell'occhio, che fa comprendere<br />
quanto sia grande la maestria de! suo pennello."<br />
33. Boschini, op. cit., 339. "[L]a prontezza ... impastar figure in copia, e senza natural.<br />
..."<br />
34. Boschini, op. cit., 339. ''L'e que! unir quel fresco con quel seco / Che in sto<br />
operar si belo importa tanto."<br />
35. Boschini, op. cit., 294. "Perche se se vardasse al color solo, / EI piu vago sarave<br />
anche il piu belo / Ma varvandose el trato del pene!o / Casca sta consequentia<br />
a rompicolo."<br />
36. Boschini, op. cit., 290. "[L]'ochio no'vede altro, che'l guanto."<br />
Glanville 19
Abstract<br />
French publications on painting materials<br />
and techniques before 1800<br />
include books of "secrets," treatises<br />
written by artists themselves or<br />
about their practice, articles from<br />
learned journals, dictionaries, and<br />
encyclopedias. The traditional methods<br />
of painting listed in these publications<br />
include dhrempe (a reference<br />
to a water-based media, which can<br />
be glue, gum, or egg tempera), fresco,<br />
miniature, and oil painting,<br />
enamel and glass painting, as well as<br />
painting on porcelain. Some of the<br />
more unusual techniques are outlined:<br />
encaustic, eludoric, and glass<br />
painting, including glass transfer<br />
techniques, and finally a satirical<br />
contribution, "peinture en fromage<br />
ou en ramequm."<br />
From. Books of Secrets to Encyclopedias: Painting<br />
Te chniques in France between 1600 and 1800<br />
Ann Massing<br />
Hamilton Kerr Institute<br />
Whittlesford<br />
Cambridge CB2 4NE<br />
United Kingdom<br />
Introduction<br />
Until the mid-seventeenth century, the business of painting in France was<br />
strictly regulated by guilds. The skills of the painting craft, handed down from<br />
master to apprentice, were treated as valuable personal possessions and protected<br />
by secrecy (1). Few records of the painting techniques themselves were<br />
published before the mid-eighteenth century. The first information contributing<br />
to the history of painting materials and techniques in the French language<br />
is found in books of "secrets," collections of recipes on various topics,<br />
often compiled from diverse authors. The "secrets" of the earliest such books<br />
were not contemporary recipes, however, but translations from Italian or Latin,<br />
often with reference to ancient Greek or Roman authors.<br />
Books of secrets<br />
The first of the books of "secrets," Les secrets de reverend Alexis Piemontois (Paris,<br />
1557) was a compilation, translated from the Italian, that included remedies<br />
for illness, wounds, and accidents, as well as instructions on how to make<br />
perfumes,jams, dyes, and pigments. The book was reprinted in 1573 and was<br />
expanded to include recipes from Dioscorides, Galen, and others, as well as<br />
some recipes relating to the history of painting techniques such as gilding,<br />
pigments, inks, and the making of varnishes. It was republished several times<br />
during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, as were other secret books,<br />
such as Les secrets et merveilles de nature (Lyon, 1586) by Jean Jacques Wecker,<br />
a doctor from Colmar. Wecker's recipes fo r magic and sorcery, health, cooking,<br />
beauty, and the manufacture of pigments, "des secrets des falseurs et vendeurs<br />
de couleurs et peintures," were also taken from Latin sources; he credits seventy-five<br />
authors from Aristotle onward. Fortunately, the book includes a<br />
table of contents, fo r the recipes are not arranged alphabetically but in a<br />
systematic order that reflects Wecker's vision of the universe and places painter's<br />
secrets on the same level as recipes fo r cooks, druggists, carpenters, and<br />
Jomers.<br />
Several books of secrets were published in the seventeenth century, but perhaps<br />
the most popular and the most relevant to our topic was Le Sieur<br />
D'Emery's Recueil des curiositez rares et nouvelles des plus admirables iff ets de la<br />
nature ret de l'art] (Paris, 1674) (2). Included were many recipes related to the<br />
history of painting techniques, recipes on how to copy drawings, make pastels,<br />
imitate marble, stain wood, gild, and make engravings look like old master<br />
<strong>paintings</strong>.<br />
Books of secrets continued to be written and reprinted throughout the eighteenth<br />
century and beyond. In the eighteenth century, the two compilations<br />
most frequently reissued were Secrets des arts et metiers (Brussels, 1755) and<br />
L' Albert moderne ou nouveau secrets eprouves et licites (Paris, 1768). This "modern"<br />
Albert was a revision of "old" Albertus Magnus, with the superstitions and<br />
enchantments deleted, keeping only "useful" advice, such as how to cure a<br />
toothache with two live moles. (The method begins by holding a mole in<br />
each hand and squeezing gently, without letting go, until they die; this process<br />
should take about five hours.) Large sections are devoted to medical and<br />
agricultural recipes; the third section includes "divers moyens de se faire une<br />
20<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
occupation agreable pour charmer l'ennui," with recipes about liqueurs, flowers,<br />
painting secrets, and so on.<br />
Technical treatises<br />
The most widely read of the early painting manuals, judging by the number<br />
of editions, was Claude Boutet's treatise on miniature painting, published in<br />
1672, called by the author an "ABC de La mignature" (3). Following the conventions<br />
of his time, Boutet dedicated his treatise not to the specialist but to<br />
an amateur, a Mlle. Fouquet, who wished to perfect her abilities in the craft.<br />
In the introduction, Boutet claims his "secrets" came from the Italians, and<br />
states that although he could have profited by keeping them to himself, he is<br />
giving away his knowledge fo r the benefit of others. He provides an extremely<br />
useful summary of French painting practice in the second half of the seventeenth<br />
century. The treatise discusses the various pigments and how to use<br />
them, based on a three-step sequence (as in oil painting of the period) : ebaucher,<br />
pointiller, and finally finir or rehauser.<br />
A seventeenth-century treatise of great importance for the history of technique<br />
is De La Fontaine's Academie de La peinture (Paris 1679), dedicated to<br />
the tutor of the future king of France (4) . He summarizes much practical<br />
detail, especially on pigment mixtures, mentioning dhrempc, fresco, pastel, grisaille,<br />
and miniature as well as oil painting. He refers to the art of perspective,<br />
which he believes a painter should know both theoretically and practically.<br />
His dependence on Italian painting is evident, and he lists the names of the<br />
Antique painters who have contributed to this knowledge (5). He also discusses<br />
the origin of painting; although several "philosophers" attributed the<br />
origin of painting to a shepherd who began to trace his shadow and saw the<br />
resemblance to the human fo rm, De La Fontaine allows that the more common<br />
opinion is that the discovery of painting was made by the Hebrews and<br />
that they transmitted it to the Greeks and to the Romans. Until the late<br />
eighteenth century, it was believed that this knowledge was then "lost," to be<br />
"rediscovered" by "Jean de Bruges" Oan van Eyck) .<br />
Seventeenth-century painters thus considered oil painting a "new" method<br />
of painting, and, judging from the source books, the preparation of the medium<br />
was obviously a vexing problem. De La Fontaine suggests nut oil with<br />
lead white thickened by sunlight (6). He follows this with the recommendation<br />
that in order to dry a layer oflead white, or a grisaille layer, one should<br />
mix the white pigment with oil of turpentine, which will cause the layer to<br />
dry as the turpentine evaporates (7). This is followed by advice on how to<br />
prevent layers of drapery from running. He suggests placing the painting flat<br />
on the floor or on a table and scattering small pieces of absorbent paper onto<br />
the surface, especially onto the shadows of the drapery. When the paper has<br />
drawn out the oil, but before the paint layer has dried, one should pick up<br />
the painting and let it fall gently on one corner, so that the paper comes away<br />
(8) .<br />
Although it is not possible to go into detail about early technical practice<br />
here, I will mention briefly De La Fontaine's method of preparing supports<br />
for painting, methods used well into the eighteenth century. In the case of<br />
canvas, the material was stretched onto a loom, smoothed with a pumice<br />
stone, sized with glue, and then given a double ground, the first colored with<br />
raw umber and red brown spread on with a knife, the second with lead white<br />
and just enough carbon black to make gray. For panels, three layers of a fine<br />
chalk ground ("blanc d'Espagne, comme on Ie vend chez les Chandeliers")<br />
was recommended, with either another layer of glue on top or a gray oil<br />
layer (9).<br />
The Acadernie Royale and the theoretical treatises<br />
Before 1800 the history of oil painting in France, and consequently the history<br />
of its technique, was dominated by Italian influence. In the sixteenth<br />
Massing 21
century, the royal patronage for the School of Fontainebleau was crucial. Later,<br />
most ambitious French painters traveled to Italy, often spending much of their<br />
professional lives there. The influence of the French Academy, the Academie<br />
Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture founded in 1648, was also of central<br />
importance for any aspect of the history of painting in France. By 1655 it<br />
had become a royal enterprise and was soon the most powerful art institution<br />
in Europe. The purpose of the Academy was to convey the principles of art<br />
to its members by means of lectures and to instruct students through life<br />
classes. In 1673 the Academy also began organizing exhibitions fo r its members.<br />
These exhibitions were not opened to a wider public until 1791 (10).<br />
With the noble aim of nurturing good craftsmanship, the Academy defined<br />
the principles from which painters were not allowed to deviate. The goal was<br />
to train students in one particular style of drawing. The necessity of copying<br />
from the ancients was stressed, and this emphasis continued until the French<br />
Revolution. Nowhere outside the Academy was a life class allowed, even in<br />
an artist's private studio. The Academy did not provide fo r the whole of the<br />
professional education of a young painter, however; the student painter still<br />
learned the basics of his craft in the workshop of his master, in whose house<br />
he often lived, just as in the Middle Ages. Thus, craft "secrets" were still<br />
essential to a painter's success, and only gradually were detailed accounts of<br />
methods and materials forced into print. The publication of Diderot's encyclopedia<br />
in the mid-eighteenth century and the French Revolution a few<br />
years later provide evidence of the culmination of a trend toward the dissemination<br />
of knowledge which had proved impossible to stem.<br />
The personalities of Jean-Baptiste Colbert (1619-1683), the elected "Protector"<br />
of the Academy, and Charles LeBrun (1619-1690), "Premier Peintre du<br />
Roi," were crucial in the development of the Academy and thus to the history<br />
of French painting. Since it was a royal academy, the king's (i.e., Colbert's)<br />
intentions were imposed, and Colbert's tight dictatorship led to a centralization<br />
from which France has still not fully emerged. The approval of the<br />
Royal Academy was a necessity fo r every endeavor within its sphere of influence.<br />
Colbert was also responsible fo r the creation of many other academies<br />
in addition to the Academie de la Peinture, including the Academie des<br />
Sciences in 1666; the importance of this fact to the subject will be indicated<br />
later.<br />
The lectures of the Royal Academy were the basis fo r many of the published<br />
treatises of the seventeenth and even the eighteenth centuries. Aesthetics,<br />
beauty and proportion, lighting and perspective, and the expressions of the<br />
figures portrayed were discussed at length by seventeenth-century authors.<br />
Charles LeBrun's famous lectures on human expression (1668) influenced<br />
generations of artists. Most of the academic authors, such as Roland Freart<br />
de Chambray, Andre Felibien, Charles Alphonse Du Fresnoy, and Roger De<br />
Piles, were not professional painters, however, and were more concerned with<br />
theory than practice. The dispute between the Ancients (Poussinistes) and the<br />
Moderns (Rubenistes) dominated the Academy lectures for more than twenty<br />
years. The study of the lives of ancient Greek and Roman as well as Renaissance<br />
painters was also a popular subject, as was the history of the origin<br />
and "rediscovery" of painting. Although the academic lectures did not usually<br />
discuss techniques, Jean Baptiste Oudry's (1686-1 755) lectures were an important<br />
exception. As president of the Academy, Oudry gave a lecture in 1752<br />
on painting techniques as practiced by the members (1 1).<br />
The spokesman of the Poussinistes, Roger De Piles (1635-1709), an amateur<br />
painter, connoisseur, and member of the Academy, was a prolific writer on<br />
the theory of painting. He did, however, compose one book on technique in<br />
1684, Les premiers Clemens de la peinture practique. As edited and augmented by<br />
Charles Antoine Jombert in 1776, the text became the most important and<br />
informative collection of recipes on French painting technique of the seventeenth<br />
and early eighteenth centuries (Figs. 1,2). Another important author<br />
fo r the history of technique was Philippe de La Hire of the Academie Royale<br />
22<br />
Histon·cal Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
DE<br />
PEJN'FURE PRATIQUE.<br />
Par<br />
demit::<br />
M. DE.<br />
Royale<br />
PILES,<br />
de Pcinture<br />
de l'Aca<br />
Sculpture.<br />
&<br />
NOUVELLE EDITION<br />
Entierement refonduc. & augmende con·<br />
lidefablement.<br />
Par CHARL!S-ANTOna J olinItY; ,<br />
-I$<br />
A AMSTERDAM lIT<br />
..<br />
did sink, however, he suggested applying with a small sponge a layer of nut<br />
oil mixed with a siccative before continuing to paint. He added that although<br />
this layer should dry before adding fu rther details, it was possible to paint fine<br />
lines of architectural elements while the layer is still wet (12).<br />
Learned journals and periodicals<br />
l'! ENCYCLOP BDIE,<br />
ou<br />
DICTIONNAIRE RAISONNE<br />
DES SCIENCES,<br />
PAR. UNE SOCIETE DE GENS DE LETTRES.<br />
DES ARTS ET DES METIERS.<br />
Nio"'onIr
In spite of the laments of certain people who complain if the taste of the<br />
century fo r dictionaries, this predilection is increasing, a proof if the benifrt<br />
the public is receiving. We are inundated, and if this torrent is not stopped,<br />
we will be learning only from dictionaries . ... We want to know everything-or<br />
rather speak if every thing and pretend to be ignorant if nothing.<br />
We must submit, therifore, to this "gout du siecle. JJ<br />
Encaustic painting<br />
The history of oil painting was an eighteenth-century fascination. In the mideighteenth<br />
century Diderot still believed, as De La Fontaine previously asserted<br />
in his seventeenth-century treatise, that the art of painting was reborn<br />
when "Jean de Bruges" Gan van Eyck) discovered the "secret" of oil painting.<br />
It was generally accepted that the Ancient painters possessed superior techniques,<br />
and that it should be possible to "rediscover" their methods. By the<br />
eighteenth century there was also concern about the state of seventeenthcentury<br />
<strong>paintings</strong>, which no longer retained the freshness of those more recently<br />
painted (23).<br />
MEMOIRE<br />
U. PIINTURE A L'ENCAUSTIQUE<br />
SU k U. PiINTUl.t A LA CIIE.o<br />
,.. JI. C-::.:..:::.. *r"' ...<br />
f>JI._.nr.e-"Io.F_.M6iI
ived from the Greek words fo r oil and water, the two main components of<br />
the method. The method follows (27):<br />
The support, usually of fine cloth primed with poppy oil, is placed under<br />
a thin film
While cooking their eggs, two young Spartans quarreled over a piece if<br />
cheese which had just disappeared in the frying pan. Both young men armed<br />
themselves with a spoon and searched the scrambled eggs, but in vain. The<br />
cheese was gone. They came to blows, one claiming the cheese was still<br />
there, the other that it had disappeared, carried off by a genie. The noise<br />
if this battle drew a crowd, and the cause if the dispute became known.<br />
It was suggested that the experience be repeated. The ability if egg yolk<br />
to dissolve cheese was recognized.<br />
The author consoled himself that he was not the first to have discovered this<br />
secret, and so made it public, congratulating himself on his generosity. Others<br />
might have kept the critical ingredient secret in an attempt to profit from it.<br />
Selling his secret would have been understandable, after all, as reimbursement<br />
fo r the heavy expenses in eggs and cheese. Rouquet continues his description<br />
with all the seriousness of a technical treatise:<br />
Mix gruyere cheese cut in f ine strips with two beaten egg yolks over a bainmarie<br />
until the cheese has melted. For the question of a support fo r the<br />
paintinsince cheese does not adhere well to panel or canvas, it is better<br />
to follow its natural association with bread. Therifore, take flour and make<br />
dough with a little milk. Finally, it would be bemificial to add a bitter<br />
substance to discourage worms, mice, and children from eating the <strong>paintings</strong>.<br />
However, by leaving it out, poor painters could at least dine on their own<br />
<strong>paintings</strong>.<br />
Conclusion<br />
As we approach the twenty-first century, our curiosity increases about how<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> of past generations were created. More and more, we look toward<br />
modern methods of scientific analysis to answer our questions about <strong>historical</strong><br />
painting materials, but a return to the written sources on painting techniques<br />
is an important first step toward a proper understanding. By definition, painters<br />
are practically oriented, however, and have rarely composed with the pen<br />
as well as the brush; records of their materials and techniques must be plucked<br />
from various publications. Undoubtedly during the coming decades, historians<br />
of painting technique will be recovering more information from the<br />
source books about the history of studio practice, painting materials, and<br />
techniques.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Patent rights existed in Europe in the mid-eighteenth century, but enforcement<br />
came only much later; in order to benefit from a discovery, the inventor still<br />
relied on secrecy. Singer gives an example involving an improvement to the<br />
system of production of liquid bleach made in 1789 fo r which the patent owner<br />
enjoyed the protection of his patent for only four years. Singer, c., et al. 1958.<br />
A history oj technology (4): Oxford, 247.<br />
2. A book of secrets, Essay des merveilles de nature et des plus nobles entifices (Rouen,<br />
1622), proved so popular that by 1657, it was already in the thirteenth edition.<br />
The author was Etienne Binet, the pseudonym of Rene Franyois, Predicateur<br />
du Roy.<br />
3. Boutet, C. 1672. Traite de la mignature, pour apprender aisement a peindre sans martre,<br />
et Ie secret de Ja ire les plus belles couleurs, I'or bruny, et I'or en coquille, Paris. Other<br />
editions were published with slight variations in the title and contents. Some<br />
editions appeared anonymously as Escole de la mignature. At least twenty-five<br />
editions were published between 1674 and 1800.<br />
4. De La Fontaine. 1679. L'Academie de la peinture [etc.], Paris. De La Fontaine<br />
dedicates his treatise to "Mesire Charles de Sainte Maure, . .. Gouverneur de<br />
Monseigneur Ie Dauphin," for the education of the future king. Two other important<br />
treatises of the seventeenth century are now available in facsimile editions.<br />
These are Bernard Dupuy du Grez's 1699 Traite sur la peinture pour en apprendre<br />
la theorie, & se peifectionner dans la pratique, To ulouse: J & A. Pech; and Le Blond<br />
de la Tour's 1669 Lettre a un de ses amis, contenant quelques instructions touchant la<br />
peinture. Bourges et Bordeaux. By the eighteenth century, the number of treatises<br />
Massing 27
increased considerably; the reader is best referred to Massing's 1990 bibliography<br />
(available from the author) .<br />
5. De La Fontaine, op. cit., epistre aiiii: "Je pretend les instruire Des jeunes] au<br />
melange des couleurs, a la force des teintes, & a la union des jours & des ombres<br />
que les Romains nomment clair-obscur."<br />
6. De La Fontaine, op. cit., 15: "Autre huille grasse pour faire seicher les couleurs.<br />
Vous prendres de I'huile de noix dedans une fiolle, vous y mettres de la mine<br />
de plomb, & du blanc de plomb pille ensemble, la mettres au soleil, cela s'engraisse,<br />
& sera fo rt clair: on en mesle avec des couleurs, quand on est presse pour<br />
les faire."<br />
7. De La Fontaine, op. cit. "Beau secret pour faire seicher Ie blanc de plomb sans<br />
changer. Quand vous voudres faire seicher du blanc de plomb, couche entiere,<br />
ou bien avec du gris, en grisaille, vous prendres de l'huile de terebentine meslee<br />
avec vostre blanc, il Ie fera seicher: notes que I'huile de terebentine fait tout<br />
seicher, parcequ'elles'en va en fu mee. " [Author's emphasis.]<br />
8. De La Fontaine, op. cit., 17.<br />
9. De La Fontaine, op. cit., 27-28. For the preparation of a copper plate: ''Lon<br />
prend une plantaine de cuivre bien poly, apres vous prendrez du blanc de plomb<br />
bien broye avec de la terre d'ombre, & noir de charbon mesle ensemble, avec<br />
une brosse vous frotterez par dessus la plataine bien unie, & avec un linge & du<br />
cotton dedans vous frapperez dessus, pour la rendre mieux unie, quand la couleur<br />
sera seiche vous prendrez un cousteau & passerez par dessus pour unir davantage,<br />
apres vous la chargerez encore une fois, & ferez encore de mesme; Ie laissant<br />
seicher, vous pouvez travailler apres pour peindre sur une pierre ou piastre ...."<br />
10. The history of the French Academy has been written by several authors. See<br />
Pevsner, N. 1940. Academies of Art Past and Present. Cambridge; and more recently,<br />
Tradition and Revolution in French Art 1700- 1880. 1993. London: National Gallery.<br />
11. Oudry. 1753. Discours sur la pratique de la peinture et ses procedes principaux: ebaucher,<br />
peindre a fo nd, et retoucher. Paper presented to the French Academy, 2 December<br />
1753, published from the manuscript in the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. In Le Cabinet<br />
de l'amateur, 1861-1862. 1863. Ed. E. Piot. Paris, 107-17. For fu rther discussion<br />
of Oudry's lecture, especially as it relates to his use of varnish, see Swicklik, M.<br />
1993. French painting and the use of varnish, 1750-1900. In Conservation Research.<br />
Washington, D.c.: National Gallery of Art, 157-74.<br />
12. La Hire, Philippe de. 1730. Traite de la practique de la peinture. Paris, 710-14.<br />
13. PJ. Macquer published several small brochures printed by the Imprimerie Royale<br />
containing information on pigments used both in the dyeing industry and for<br />
painting. In the series Description des arts et metiers fa ites 014 approuvees par Messieurs<br />
de l'Academie Royale des Sciences, many articles were published which were publications<br />
in their own right; subjects include pigments used fo r dyeing, pigments<br />
for painting on porcelain, different types of glues, and the making of parchment.<br />
14. For example, a translation of a publication of the Royal Society of London on<br />
minerals by E. Hussey with reference to their use in painting was published by<br />
Dijonval. See Delaval. 1778. Recherches experimentales sur fa cause des changemens de<br />
couleurs dans les corps opaques et naturellement colores. Translated from the English<br />
by Dijonval. Quatremere: Paris de l'imprimerie de Monsieur.<br />
15. Mengs, A.-R. 1786. Oeuvres completes d'Antoine-Raphael Mengs, premier peintre du<br />
roi d'Espagne, &c. Contenant d!ff erens, traites sur la theorie de la peinture. Traduit de<br />
l'italien. Vols. I-II. Paris. Mengs wrote various treatises on the theory of art. See<br />
also Lairesse, Gerard de. 1787. Le grand livre des peintres, 014 f'art de la peinture<br />
considere dans toutes ses parties, et de,nontre par principes; avec des riflexions sur les<br />
ouvrages de quelques bons ma/tres, et sur les difauts qui s'y trouvent. Auquel on a joint<br />
les principes du dessin du meme auteur. Traduit du Hollandois sur la seconde edition.<br />
Vols. I-II: Paris. (Dutch original: Groot Schilderboek. Haarlem. 1740) . Lairesse was<br />
considered among the best painters of his time. His treatise was well known to<br />
eighteenth-century writers and artists, and his work is representative of practice<br />
in the early eighteenth century. Book IV is entirely devoted to colors and coloring;<br />
there are also chapters on drawing, composition, portraits, ceiling painting,<br />
engraving, etc.<br />
16. Observations periodiques sur fa physique, et les beaux-arts continued from 1756 to<br />
1823, although the title changed to Journal de Physique et chemie d'histoire naturelle<br />
et des arts.<br />
17. In the Journal Oeconomique, 1751-1772, in addition to various articles of interest,<br />
the tables of merchandise arriving into the ports of London, Amsterdam, etc.,<br />
were published, with prices and exchange rațes for various materials including<br />
28<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
some used for painting (i.e., amber, brazilwood and cochineal, gum arabic, indigo,<br />
saffron, sandarac, shellac, verdigris, vermilion, etc.).<br />
18. The Royal Academy in London was founded in 1768. By that period, the exchange<br />
of information all over Europe was so rapid that translations of new<br />
methods and techniques happened very quickly. See also Carlyle, L. 1991. A<br />
critical analysis of artists' handbooks, manuals and treatises on oil painting published<br />
in Britain between 1800-1900: with reference to selected eighteenthcentury<br />
sources. PhD. diss. Courtauld Institute of Art, University of London.<br />
Also, compare early German source books, including Schiessl, U. 1989. Die<br />
deutschsprachige Literatur zu Werkstoifen und Techniken der Malerei von 1530 bis ca.<br />
1950. Worms.<br />
19. The layout of Diderot's great work is not alphabetical but systematic, after the<br />
division of the sciences following the scheme of Francis Bacon (1561-1626) fo r<br />
an Encyclopaedia oj Nature and Art, which was published in 1620 (the encyclopedia<br />
itself was never published). Painting is listed under two categories: philosophy<br />
and imagination. Alphabetical arrangement of the contents of an encyclopedia<br />
came into general use in the eighteenth century, and indexing was not employed<br />
until the 1830s. For fu rther information of the dramatic history of Diderot's<br />
encyclopedia, see Collison, R. 1964. Encyclopaedias: Their History throughout the<br />
Ages. London.<br />
20. Copying from previous authors was commonplace in the seventeenth and eighteenth<br />
centuries; everyone did it, and it was unusual when a source was cited.<br />
One splendid example is the recipe for making drying oil by boiling nut oil<br />
with litharge, water, and one onion. None of the authors really believed in the<br />
efficacy of the onion, but dutifully copied it nonetheless. See Pernety, D. A,-J.<br />
1757. Dictionnaire portatif de peinture, sculpture et gravure. Paris, Ixxxvii-Ixxxviii.<br />
Pernety copied the recipe from La Hire (La Hire, op. cit., 708): "II y en a qui<br />
font cuire avec l'huile un oignon coupe en plusieurs morceaux pour la degraisser<br />
& pour la rendre plus coulante & moins gluante, a ce qu'ils pretendent." De Piles<br />
copied it again with similar doubts and suggested using a piece of bread instead<br />
(De Piles. 1776. Elemens de peinture pratique. Charles-Antoine Jombert, 141-42).<br />
21. Lacombe, J. 1752. Dictionnaire portatif des beaux-arts. Paris. See also Macquer,<br />
p. J. 1766-1767. Dictiormaire portatif des arts et metiers. Paris. For information on<br />
the many dictionairies published in the later half of the eighteenth century, see<br />
Massing's 1990 bibliography (available from the author).<br />
22. Pernety, op. cit. (note 20), iii-iv.<br />
23. Several authors refer to the imperfections of the oil medium. De Piles. 1766, op.<br />
cit. (note 20), 97-98. De Piles writes of the deterioration of oil painting, "Cette<br />
espece de peinture est moderne en comparison des autres . ... II n'y a pas de<br />
donte qu'elle seroit la plus parfaite de toutes les manieres de peindre, si les<br />
couleurs ne se ternissoient point par la suite des tems; mais elles brunissent<br />
toujours de plus en plus & tirent sur un jaune brun, ce qui vient de I'huile avec<br />
laquelle to utes les couleurs sont broyees & incorporees."<br />
24. Caylus, M. Ie Comte de, and M. Majault. 1755. Memoire sur la peinture a l'encaustique<br />
et sur la peinture a la eire. Geneva and Paris.<br />
25. Eighteenth-century authors such as the Count of Caylus believed that the Ancient<br />
Greek painters used an encaustic painting technique. The wax was "fixed"<br />
to the wooden support by placing the completed painting next to an open fire.<br />
Since the only painting materials Pliny mentioned were wax, pigments, fire, and<br />
brushes, Caylus dismissed the use of solvents such as turpentine to soften wax<br />
and make it "paintable." To paint as the ancients did, Caylus considered that the<br />
wax needed to be heated. The watertight metal boxes depicted here could be<br />
filled with boiling water, which kept the colored waxes at a constant temperature.<br />
The box on the left has a roughened glass top used to grind the colors. A similar<br />
box with an opaque top would be a palette.<br />
26. Fratrel,J. 1770. La cire alliee avec l'/wile ou la peinture a /wile-eire. Trouvee a Manheim<br />
par M. Charles Baron de Taubenheim experimerttee decrite & dedie a l'electeur. Manheim.<br />
27. For further discussion of this method of painting, which was taken quite seriously<br />
not only by the inventor himself, but by most contemporary source books, see<br />
Massing, A. 1993. Arnaud Vincent de Montpetit and eludoric painting. Zeitschrifi<br />
jur Kunsttechnologie 7 (2):359-68.<br />
28. For a discussion of this popular technique, see Massing A. 1989. From print to<br />
painting. The technique of glass transfer painting. Print Quarterly 6 (4):382-93.<br />
29. Rouquet,J. A. 1755. L'art nouveau de la peinture en jromage, ou en remequin, inventee<br />
pour suivre Ie louable projet de trouver graduellement des jafons de peindre injerieures a<br />
celles qui existent. Marolles.<br />
Massing 29
Abstract<br />
The Roberson Archive, the archive<br />
of the artists' colorman Charles<br />
Roberson & Co. (1819-1985) is<br />
housed at the Hamilton Kerr Institute<br />
in Cambridge. Roberson was<br />
one of the most important colormen<br />
in nineteenth-century London. The<br />
material in the archive gives detailed<br />
information about the internal<br />
workings of the company and its relations<br />
to both its customers and<br />
suppliers. It is the largest artists' colorman<br />
archive in the United Kingdom<br />
and covers the period from<br />
1815 to 1944, providing a record of<br />
the materials and techniques of<br />
many of the leading nineteenth- and<br />
twentieth-century British artists. In<br />
addition to catalogues, sample books,<br />
and more than three hundred account<br />
ledgers, there is a collection of<br />
pigments and objects sold by Roberson<br />
that provides material fo r analysis<br />
and study. A three-year research<br />
project is currently being undertaken<br />
to catalogue the archive, compile a<br />
database of the most important documents,<br />
and make the archive accessible<br />
for research.<br />
Figure 1. Roberson's shop at 154 Piccadilly,<br />
ca. 189{}-1911. Fitzwilliam Museum, University<br />
of Cambridge.<br />
The Roberson Archive: Content and Significance<br />
Sally A. Woodcock<br />
Hamilton Kerr Institute<br />
University of Cambridge<br />
Whittlesford<br />
Cambridge CB2 4NE<br />
United Kingdom<br />
The company's history<br />
Charles Roberson opened his first recorded shop to sell artists' materials at<br />
54 Long Acre, London. Although accounts of the firm's history give the date<br />
as 1810, Henry Matley is listed as "colourman to artists" at this address in a<br />
trade directory of 1817, and a note in a recipe book dating from around the<br />
turn of the century states that Roberson did not succeed Matley until 1819<br />
(1). At that time, the shop was in the heart of the artistic area of London,<br />
with the Royal Academy Schools being based nearby in Somerset House on<br />
the Strand. In 1828 Roberson and his assistant Thomas Miller became partners<br />
and moved to 51 Long Acre (2). The partnership dissolved in 1840.<br />
The company continued to trade on Long Acre, moving to the premises they<br />
built at number 99 in 1853. In 1868 the Royal Academy Schools moved to<br />
Burlington House, Piccadilly, and Roberson opened a retail branch on Piccadilly<br />
in 1890 (Fig. 1) (3). Over the following years, however, many artisans<br />
and manufacturing trades moved away from the center of London to be<br />
replaced by retailers and offices; in 1937 Roberson closed both the Piccadilly<br />
and Long Acre branches, moving to Parkway, Camden (4). They retained a<br />
West End presence for an unspecified length of time, arranging with the<br />
Medici Galleries in Grafton Street to move a "representative stock of Artists<br />
materials" from their closed Piccadilly branch in January 1940, to be sold<br />
from the galleries on commission (5). Two successive French addresses appeared<br />
in their catalogues after 1870, which they described as their depots in<br />
Paris, but which were in fact the premises of Parisian colormen (6).<br />
The company remained in the Roberson family until sold to a Dutch firm<br />
in the 1970s. G. F. Roberson Park remained a board member (7). In 1985 it<br />
went into liquidation. At liquidation the name was bought by the London<br />
colorman Cornelissen and a small range of high-quality materials bearing the<br />
Roberson name is still produced (8).<br />
The arrival of the archive at the Hamilton Kerr Institute<br />
In 1975 Roberson's historic accounts ledgers were moved to the Hamilton<br />
Kerr Institute (9). They were loaned to the Institute for safekeeping and<br />
research and, when the company was dissolved, became part of the Fitzwilliam<br />
Museum's manuscript collection. The archive is now housed in the Institute<br />
and will be available for research once cataloguing is complete.<br />
The archive consists of a collection of objects, including a large number of<br />
pigment samples, and more than three hundred ledgers dating from 1815 to<br />
1944. There are several continuous series of different types of ledgers, but<br />
there are many gaps, and some sets appear to be incomplete (10). Despite<br />
this, it is the most extensive artists' colorman archive in the United Kingdom.<br />
The manuscripts in the Roberson Archive give a detailed picture of the<br />
company's activities. Only the most important categories are discussed here,<br />
as many of the warehouse, order, day, and sundries books contain information<br />
duplicated in the main accounts books.<br />
Catalogues and sample books<br />
The catalogues preserved in the archive date from 1840-1 853 to 1926-1933<br />
and illustrate goods sold by Roberson. They offered a fairly conventional<br />
30<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
ange of artists' materials, books on art, and plaster casts of antique statues.<br />
Although they sold some patented equipment (such as a sketching stool that<br />
converted to a walking stick and the "Eiffel," a stool made of steel), Roberson<br />
avoided the more innovative artists' equipment patented in the nineteenth<br />
century, such as easels that also served as bicycles or rowing machines (11).<br />
Most products were sold under the Roberson name, although a few materials<br />
such as paper were usually identified by the name of the manufacturer. It is<br />
therefore difficult to establish which materials were made by Roberson and<br />
which brought in to be made up and labeled on the premises. It appears that<br />
the company prepared their own canvas throughout the company's history, a<br />
room used fo r this was still extant in the Parkway workshop until liquidation<br />
(12). They also mixed their own paints, buying pigments and other materials<br />
from wholesale suppliers, in common with most other artists' colormen, not<br />
manufacturing the raw pigments themselves. In general they only bought<br />
small quantities of prepared paints from other artists' colormen, sometimes as<br />
little as one tube or cake bought for a specific customer. However, the popularity<br />
of Roberson's Medium, used fo r oil painting, was such that both British<br />
and foreign colormen bought wholesale quantities of it from Roberson.<br />
After the First World War, when Roberson's business was beginning a gradual<br />
decline, trading practices began to change and by the period following the<br />
Second World War, a reciprocal arrangement with the London colorman<br />
Rowney was made to divide trade into two spheres, Roberson supplying<br />
Rowney with canvas and Rowney supplying Roberson with paints (13).<br />
The catalogues indicate the cost of artists' materials and demonstrate prices<br />
were stable for much of the nineteenth century. There is a clear differentiation<br />
between luxurious pigments such as ultramarine or carmine and other, cheaper<br />
colors; the catalogues show that an ounce (28.35 g) of genuine ultramarine<br />
was twenty-eight times as expensive as its artificial substitute between around<br />
1840 and 1911, with prices almost completely stable in that period. The<br />
catalogues also reflect the introduction of new pigments and demonstrate that<br />
there could be a considerable time lag between the discovery of a pigment<br />
and its commercial application. Roberson & Co. appears to have been comprised<br />
of rather reactionary colormen, who contributed little to technical<br />
innovation, emphasizing the hand-prepared nature of the company's products<br />
until long after many of the other colormen had introduced a degree of<br />
mechanization; their reaction to new developments, therefore, may not be<br />
characteristic of the market as a whole.<br />
Three different prices were given in the catalogues until 1920: wholesale,<br />
retail, and professional. After 1920, discounts offered by artists' colormen to<br />
professional artists were abolished after complaints of abuse (14).<br />
In addition to catalogues, the archive contains a number of sample books of<br />
canvas, paper, and paints, both from Roberson and other companies, that are<br />
of great use in providing identified, untreated material fo r analysis. Projects<br />
have been carried out to establish the composition of the ground on the<br />
canvas samples and the pigments in the paint samples.<br />
Price books. recipe books. and notebooks<br />
Price books indicate both the cost to Roberson of a range of materials and<br />
the resale price. Many of the cost prices are in an alphabetical code, illustrating<br />
the importance of secrecy to the company; an alphabetical code is also used<br />
in the recipe books.<br />
The recipe books in the archive contain a number of formulae for paints,<br />
media, and grounds, as would be expected from an artists' colorman, but also<br />
have recipes for trifle, lemon pickle, wine, boot polish, and blacking fo r harnesses.<br />
This illustrates the early connections between colormen, grocers, and<br />
apothecaries, professions which were separating into distinct trades in the<br />
nineteenth century (15).<br />
Woodcock 31
Figure 2. Charles Roberson's recipe fo r Roberson's Medium, originally in sealed envelope. Fitzwilliam<br />
Museum, University of Cambridge.<br />
The books also demonstrate a degree of experimentation in the formulation<br />
of artists' colors; the composition of mixed colors in particular, such as olive<br />
green or neutral tint, was not absolutely fixed. Notes in the recipe books'<br />
margins indicate that formulae were not always successful, and in the later<br />
recipes a degree of substitution was effected (16).<br />
The recipe books show the importance given to secret recipes and trade<br />
secrets. Many of the recipes are written in code or shorthand or have certain<br />
portions in Greek. The fo rmula of Roberson's Medium, the company's most<br />
successful product, has been struck out in a recipe book (17). It is contained<br />
in a once-sealed envelope from Charles Roberson to his nephew Charles<br />
Park that is marked, "To be opened when I am dead," and dated 1868, ten<br />
years before Roberson's death (Fig. 2) (18). Roberson had reason fo r secrecy.<br />
When a Mr. Ellis advertised in the Daily Telegraph of 1900 that he would sell<br />
"the fo rmula fo r making this famous medium fo r imparting permanency to<br />
oil <strong>paintings</strong>" at a price of seventy guineas, Roberson quickly threatened<br />
prosecution. Ellis's solicitors responded the next day stating that he had "no<br />
intention ... of selling the medium as 'Roberson's Medium,' " had effected<br />
no sale of either the fo rmula or the medium, and would discontinue the<br />
advertisement (19).<br />
Personal accounts<br />
The personal account books are among the most important records in the<br />
archive. They are incomplete, but provide detailed information about the<br />
materials and techniques of many of the most prominent nineteenth- and<br />
twentieth-century artists in Britain. They list in most cases what an artist<br />
bought and how much, and when he or she paid (Fig. 3) . They also demonstrate<br />
the range of services Roberson would perform, such as sending<br />
workers to artists' studios to carry out a variety of tasks, transporting <strong>paintings</strong><br />
to and from exhibitions and loaning equipment to artists. William Holman<br />
Hunt's accounts show that he frequently changed his mind as to the proportions<br />
of his <strong>paintings</strong>, and that Roberson regularly sent workers to add strips<br />
of canvas and enlarge stretchers, particularly toward the end of the artist's life.<br />
Account holders were not only confined to artists living in Britain. Jozef<br />
Israels in the Hague, Louis Raemaekers in Brussels, Fritz Voellmy in Basel,<br />
and the American artist Wilton Lockwood all bought from Roberson.<br />
The accounts record extensive use oflay figures, usually rented by artists from<br />
Roberson, as their purchase price was very high (Fig. 4) There are a number<br />
32<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Figure 3. Personal account book, 1881-1894, MS 250- 1993, 37-8. Fitzwilliam Museum, University<br />
of Cambridge.<br />
of both full- and child-size figures in the archive; their composition-stuffed<br />
knitted textile over a wooden and metal frame with papier-mache and gesso<br />
heads-helps to explain why they were so frequently sent fo r repair and why<br />
Roberson entered into disputes with artists over damage sustained in use (20) .<br />
Despite this, they were probably cheaper and more reliable than living models,<br />
of which Roberson kept a register to assist customers (21).<br />
The accounts also show the range of Roberson's customers from wealthy,<br />
well-established painters to professional graphic artists, scene painters, and<br />
others. Many amateur artists also held accounts with Roberson, including<br />
several members of royalty, both in England and abroad. Roberson appears<br />
to have been supplying the upper end of the market and although it did not<br />
hold the royal warrant fo r Queen Victoria, Roberson supplied the Queen<br />
with sketching materials during her reign and was granted the royal warrant<br />
to Queen Alexandra in 1912 and to King Vittorio Emanuele III of Italy in<br />
1903. In 1949, Gerald Kelly remembered in a letter to Roberson, "When I<br />
first started painting I could not afford to deal with what I was then told was<br />
the best firm in London, but as soon as I got a little money I got my things<br />
from you, and gradually I have bought more and more ..." (22).<br />
Figure 4. Lay figure: Child no. 98. Fitzwilliam<br />
Museum, University of Cambridge.<br />
Some artists had their materials specially made to their own recipes or to a<br />
formula supplied in the past which they particularly liked. Leighton asked for<br />
his paints to be made "extra stiff," a preference alluded to in a letter from a<br />
fellow artist in 1888: "I have used your colours fo r several years, and I can<br />
with the greatest confidence say that they have given me every satisfaction.<br />
There is one quality which is greatly esteemed-and this Sir Frederick Leighton<br />
says is a great desideratum, that is stiffness" (23).<br />
Roberson, however, did not always think the customers' demands were advisable.<br />
A notebook entry dated 27 November 1882 records, "Sir F. Leighton<br />
P. R. A. in 1881, 82, had canvases prepared with different grounds made to<br />
his order & warranted not to stand; plaster of Paris &c. with Lac Varnish over<br />
&c. &c." (24). In June 1888, Millais is also recorded as having "canvases prepared<br />
thickly with one coat of turpentine color to his order, also prepared<br />
his own canvases. Not warranted to stand" (25).<br />
Woodcock 33
Bought ledgers<br />
The bought ledgers help to complete the picture of Roberson's trading practices.<br />
They date from 1854 to 1931 and indicate the limited extent of Roberson's<br />
manufacturing activities and its widespread trade with manufacturers<br />
and wholesale suppliers, both in Britain and abroad. From this, it is possible<br />
to reconstruct the chain of supply from raw material to artist. The ledgers<br />
also show how often Roberson & Co. printed its catalogues and where the<br />
company advertised; the ledgers even give details of the fixtures and fittings<br />
of their shops and workshops.<br />
One of the primary uses of the bought ledgers is to indicate the dating and<br />
extent of use of a variety of pigments or pigment mixtures introduced<br />
throughout the period in which Roberson traded. The popularity of a new<br />
pigment and the decline of its predecessor can be gauged from Roberson's<br />
purchases from the wholesale supplier, providing a fu ndamental record of the<br />
dissemination of new colors and materials.<br />
Letters<br />
The letters preserved in the archive are, by their nature, a disparate group of<br />
materials, but provide detailed and wide-ranging information about the company.<br />
Roberson kept much of its more interesting correspondence, particularly<br />
letters expressing approval of its products or restoration treatments. From<br />
1919 to 1940 they also kept handwritten (and later typed) copies of their<br />
answers to correspondence. Some letters were later used in their catalogues<br />
as testimonials; for example, the letter from W P. Frith of January 1897 referring<br />
to his painting in the Tate Gallery, London: " . .. you would like to<br />
know that it is just fifty years since I painted the Derby Day with your colours<br />
and medium, and that in so long a time there is no change whatsoever in<br />
the materials used" (26) .<br />
The letters also record advice both to and from artists concerning technique<br />
and the fo rmulation and application of materials. This can often be most<br />
informative, such as Thomas Gambier Parry's letter in 1874 from Ely, where<br />
he was working on the cathedral; the letter provides both a recipe and instructions<br />
for making up the "usual common encaustic."<br />
The letters also help to confirm information about developments within the<br />
company, such as a letter to the Factories Inspector announcing the installation<br />
of electric color grinding machinery in 1919, contradicting its catalogue<br />
note of around 1926 in which the company states that it is convinced that<br />
paints "which are ground by hand under the muller give results superior to<br />
those ground by machinery" and that the company, therefore, continued to<br />
use the former system (27). They also give some details of the conditions of<br />
the work force Roberson employed, mentioning industrial accidents and the<br />
possibility of redundancy due to ill health.<br />
The accounts books demonstrate how long customers were prepared to delay<br />
payment of their bills and many of the letters refer to attempts to recover<br />
bad debts, using an investigation agency if necessary. This demonstrates why<br />
Roberson asked fo r customers to provide references from reputable London<br />
businesses before opening an account. The bad debts were not always the<br />
result of fraud. Before the establishment of the welfare state in Britain, medical<br />
treatment could be ruinously expensive; therefore illness or death often left<br />
dependents at the mercy of creditors.<br />
Throughout the nineteenth century, artists and writers expressed unease about<br />
both the quality of artists' materials and the soundness of contemporary technique.<br />
This erupted into a public debate in 1880 when William Holman<br />
Hunt, a member of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and a long-standing<br />
customer of Roberson, gave a paper to the Royal Society of Arts that criticized<br />
the quality of artists' materials and accused the color men of either being<br />
deceived by their suppliers or of adulterating the products themselves. Hunt's<br />
34<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
paper resulted in a volume of correspondence and a leading article in the<br />
Times. The background to this can be traced in the Roberson Archive, as<br />
the anonymous colorman cited by Hunt as supplying him with adulterated<br />
paint was, in fact, Roberson.<br />
It is significant that Hunt did not transfer his account from Roberson to<br />
another colorman and continued to buy from the company until shortly<br />
before his death. Roberson took his accusations seriously and painted out<br />
samples of pigment and made up a chart of a number of aging tests they had<br />
carried out (Plate 5). The company's concern for the quality of its pigments<br />
is evident in the twentieth century when it used a chemical laboratory to<br />
analyze samples of pigment from the wholesale suppliers. Roberson also sent<br />
materials to artists fo r testing; and he corresponded with both Professor<br />
Church, professor of chemistry at the Royal Academy, and Helmut Ruhemann<br />
at the National Gallery in developing and assessing materials. A project<br />
to analyze pigments in the archive fo r adulterants has been carried out at the<br />
Hamilton Kerr Institute with mixed results: a small number of spectacularly<br />
adulterated pigments (with much use of fillers and extenders) were found,<br />
but there was less adulteration than the literature of the time and Hunt's<br />
accusations would suggest (28).<br />
Information from objects<br />
The archive contains a number of objects, most of which can be identified<br />
in the company's catalogues. These objects provide a useful set of references<br />
against which to check the documentary information. For example, analysis<br />
of the pigment collection has revealed the unreliability of many of the recipe<br />
books, with adulteration and substitution being common. The objects in the<br />
collection also illustrate the development in the nineteenth century of paint<br />
containers, including both a paint bladder and the ivory pins used fo r piercing<br />
it, a set of brass paint syringes, the forerunner of the collapsible tube, and<br />
tubes adopted in the 1840s after they were first patented and advertised (Plate<br />
6) .<br />
Other activities of the company<br />
In addition to supplying artists' materials, Roberson was involved in a number<br />
of other activities that can be traced in various sources in the archive. These<br />
included restoration, dealing, and publishing. Trade directories show that it<br />
was not uncommon fo r color men to be dealers and restorers in the nineteenth<br />
century, but gradually the professors came to be listed separately, although<br />
Roberson's accounts indicate that the company continued all three<br />
pursuits until its records end in the 1940s.<br />
Historical context<br />
Many aspects of the history of the Victorian and Edwardian period can be<br />
gleaned from the Roberson Archive. The presence of an extensive empire is<br />
felt both in terms of the materials bought from the colonies and in the<br />
products supplied, which were designed to withstand extremes of climate not<br />
experienced in Britain. Stylistic movements were also reflected in Roberson's<br />
catalogues; materials for illumination, missal painting, and heraldic hatchments<br />
became popular during the Gothic revival. Roberson also responded to the<br />
Victorian expansion in public building and the popularity of painted interior<br />
decoration by fo rmulating a number of media and specially prepared canvases<br />
to imitate fresco. The company was involved in both supplying the materials<br />
and erecting the canvases in a number of public buildings in Britain.<br />
Roberson also supplied materials for the great explorations of the period<br />
since, even though photography was used by this time, artists were still often<br />
sent on expeditions to record the results. A tube of yellow ochre taken on<br />
the 1912 Shackleton South Pole expedition was given to Roberson by the<br />
expedition artist George Marston on his return. When the expedition was<br />
Woodcock 35
stranded by pack ice that crushed their ship, Marston mixed his paints with<br />
lamp wick to caulk the seams of the open boat in order to successfully fe tch<br />
help. The Egyptologist Howard Carter was also a customer; he bought artists'<br />
materials, using Roberson as an agent, and sent cases of drawings of his finds<br />
to the company fo r distribution.<br />
The effect of both world wars is seen, to some extent, mainly as a series of<br />
problems of supply, raw materials being difficult to obtain and materials such<br />
as paper subject to government restrictions. Some pigments were also in short<br />
supply, vermilion increasing in price by 120 percent in 1940 because of shortages<br />
of mercury, which was used fo r shell and mine detonators, and because<br />
difficulties with chrome colors were being anticipated as they were used fo r<br />
dyes fo r khaki and in the manufacture of poison gas (29). Roberson was<br />
fortunate in sustaining only slight damage from an incendiary bomb in 1940<br />
and avoiding the more extensive damage experienced by other colormen.<br />
Post-war disruption is also evident; letters from Roberson in 1919 showed<br />
the difficulties of supply and delivery facing the colormen. Canvas was in<br />
short supply, materials usually coming from Russia were unobtainable, and<br />
turpentine was scarce and expensive; even tin tubes in which to pack the<br />
colors were difficult to find (30). Similar difficulties were experienced during<br />
World War II. The world wars, the depression of the 1930s, and the rise of<br />
new reproduction methods contributed to Roberson's decline in the twentieth<br />
century.<br />
The archive as a research resource<br />
The Roberson Archive is chiefly relevant to the study of the materials and<br />
techniques of British artists. Its relevance outside the United Kingdom is<br />
confined to the small number of foreign artists who bought from the company<br />
and the larger number of suppliers and retailers who traded with them.<br />
These contacts include firms in all five continents, but the most numerous<br />
contacts were in France, Germany, and the United States.<br />
The archive has been used in the last year to follow up a number of queries<br />
from both the United Kingdom and abroad. Although access will be restricted<br />
until the end of 1996 (when the cataloguing project ends), thereafter it will<br />
be available for study. A database of account holders, regarded as the most<br />
informative part of the archive, is being compiled, along with details of their<br />
purchases, and it is hoped that a checklist of account holders will be published.<br />
The database will make it possible to search for both particular artists and<br />
specific materials and, when used in conjunction with information from recipe<br />
books and catalogues, should provide a clearer picture of what <strong>paintings</strong><br />
were made of and what artists really used in the nineteenth and early twentieth<br />
centuries.<br />
Acknowledgments<br />
The Roberson Archive is published by permission of the Syndics of the Fitzwilliam<br />
Museum, University of Cambridge and is generously funded by the Leverhulme<br />
Trust.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Gallagher, M. 1991. The Roberson Archive: inventory oj written and printed material.<br />
Unpublished typescript. Cambridge: Hamilton Kerr Institute, 2. See also Kent's<br />
Original London Directory. 1817. Hamilton Kerr Institute (HKI) MS 785-1993,<br />
fol. 54v, 223. See also C. Roberson & Co. Ltd. 1969-1970 Catalogue, ii. Charles<br />
Roberson does not appear in trade directories at this address until Pigot's directory<br />
was published (Pigot & Co. 's Metropolitan new alphabetical directory. 1922-<br />
1923, 68). A letter to the National Gallery in London dated 1923 states that<br />
Charles Roberson founded the company in 1819 (HKI MS 862-1993, 293).<br />
2. Kent's Original London Directory. Op. cit. (note 1).<br />
3. HKI MS 204-1993, 638.<br />
36<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
4. HKI MS 865-1993, 497. The move is attributed to increasing congestion caused<br />
by the growth of Covent Garden Market in a note on the firm's history in a<br />
Roberson catalogue of 1969-1970, ii. A letter of 18 January 1940, however, states<br />
that they were not going to renew their lease on the Piccadilly branch "owing<br />
to conditions caused by the war," HKI MS 866-1993, 47.<br />
5. HKI MS 866-1993, 51-2.<br />
6. The first address is 26 Rue Chaptal, the premises of E. Mary & Fils, later Geo.<br />
Mary, who gave up business in 1920. The second address is 3 Quai Voltaire,<br />
where G. Sennelier & Fils are listed between 1920 and 1935.<br />
7. Gallagher, op. cit., 3.<br />
8. Walt, N. 1993. Personal communication. L. Cornelissen & Son, 105 Great Russell<br />
Street, London WC1B 3RY<br />
9. Cob be, A. 1994. Personal communication. A full account of the arrival of the<br />
archive at the Institute is recorded in Gallagher, op. cit., 3-4.<br />
10. The archive is listed in the Cambridge Union Catalogue of Departmental and<br />
College Libraries, and was compiled by Paul Woudhuysen, Keeper of Manuscripts<br />
and Printed Books, Fitzwilliam Museum.<br />
11. McGrath, M. 1973. A catalogue of some eighteenth and nineteenth century patents<br />
dealing with artists' instruments. Unpublished typescript. London: Courtauld Institute<br />
of Art.<br />
12. Walt, N. 1994. Personal communication.<br />
13. Walt, N. 1993. Personal communication.<br />
14. HKI MS 865-1993, 191.<br />
15. This is demonstrated to even greater effect by H. Hodder, described as "Chemist<br />
& Druggist, Oil and Colorman, Tallow Chandler, Tea Dealer, and Tobacconist,"<br />
whose recipe book (1823-1858) covers fo od and drink, household cleaning<br />
agents, cures fo r both human and animal ailments, and recipes fo r varnishes, oils,<br />
and paints (Guildhall Library MS 16262, by permission of the Guildhall Library,<br />
Corporation of London) . The preface to a 1875 Post Office Directory clarifies<br />
the separation of the trades: "Groceries in early times consisted chiefly of spices<br />
. . . but subsequently came to comprise confectionery, dyes, drugs, chemicals,<br />
whale oil, &c.; the confectioner, the druggist, and the oilman have now branched<br />
off into separate and distinct trades" (The 1875 post office directory of the grocery<br />
and oil and color trades. 1875, iv) .<br />
16. Townsend, J. H., L. Carlyle, S. Woodcock, and N. Khandekar. n.d. Later nineteenth<br />
century pigments: analyses of reference samples, and evidence fo r adulterants<br />
and substitutions. The Conservator. Forthcoming.<br />
17. HKI MS 788-1993, fo1. 45v.<br />
18. HKI MS 892-1 993. Charles Roberson died and was succeeded by his nephew<br />
in 1878, according to the note on the firm's history in a 1969-1970 catalogue,<br />
11.<br />
19. HKI MS 891-1993.<br />
20. HKI MS 864-1993, 142.<br />
21. HKI MS 865-1993, 373.<br />
22. HKI MS 527-1993.<br />
23. HKI MS 500-1993.<br />
24. HKI MS. 785-1993, fo1. 37r.<br />
25. Ibid., fo1. 41r.<br />
26. HKI MS 597-1993.<br />
27. HKI MS 860-1993, 30.<br />
28. Townsend, J. H., et aI., op. cit. See also Woodcock, S., and N. Khandekar, n.d.<br />
The Adulteration of Twentieth Century Pigments in the Roberson Archive. Forthcommg.<br />
29. HKI MS 866-1993, 164, 219.<br />
30. HKI MS 860-1993, 6, 15, 22, 83, 85.<br />
Woodcock 37
Abstract<br />
Two texts from Simone de Monte<br />
Dante's medieval Italian manuscript<br />
are presented here in English translation.<br />
With their many recipes, these<br />
texts shed light on the technique<br />
and materials of fifteenth-century<br />
Italian manuscript illumination and<br />
the <strong>historical</strong> development of the illuminator's<br />
craft. Studying the relationship<br />
of this manuscript to other<br />
treatises may provide a better understanding<br />
of the mechanisms involved<br />
in the adaptations and transmission<br />
of medieval art technology.<br />
Figure 1. Rome, Biblioteca Casanatense,<br />
MS 1793, cover.<br />
Figure 2. Rome, Biblioteca Casanatense,<br />
MS 1793, jol. 10v.<br />
38<br />
Libro Secondo de Diversi Colori e Sise da Mettere a Oro:<br />
A Fifteenth-Century Technical Treatise on Manuscript<br />
Illumination<br />
Arie Wallert<br />
The Getty Conservation Institute<br />
Museum Services Laboratory<br />
The J. Paul Getty Museum<br />
17985 Pacific Coast Highway<br />
Malibu, California 90265<br />
USA<br />
Introduction<br />
The Biblioteca Casanatense in Rome holds a very interesting fifteenth-century<br />
technical art manuscript. It has the shelf mark "MS 1793" and shows on<br />
folio 2r ("r" for recto) the author's name and the date of the manuscript:<br />
"Questo libro et ne di Simone de Monte Dante dela Zazera . .. 10 chopiai<br />
el mese di novembre 1422" (Fig. 1).<br />
The manuscript contains two closely related treatises on folios 10v-13v ("v"<br />
for verso) and 15v-20v. Written in different hands, these texts contain recipes<br />
devoted to the practice of manuscript illumination. Various aspects of the art<br />
are described, such as ink production, parchment preparation, gold leaf application,<br />
and the preparation and application of pigments and various transparent<br />
organic colorants.<br />
The recipes in the Simone manuscript are not related to the well-known<br />
Mappae Clavicula tradition, the texts from Theophilus' Schedula de Diversarum<br />
artium, the Eraclius texts, or the texts of the Liber de Coloribus. What makes<br />
this manuscript so important is the fact that it appears to be related to a<br />
particular group of technical art treatises comprising a number of littleknown,<br />
mostly unpublished recipe texts that are specifically devoted to the<br />
miniaturist's craft.<br />
The relationships of parts in Simone's treatise with those manuscripts in the<br />
Siena Biblioteca Comunale, the Modena Biblioteca Estense, the Bologna Biblioteca<br />
Universitaria, the Oxford Bodleian Library, and the Florence Biblioteca<br />
Nazionale are quite intriguing. The recipes of both treatises in Simone's<br />
manuscript are given here in translation, with notes indicating the relationships<br />
to other recipe texts, as well as references to relevant technical literature<br />
(1) .<br />
Relationships to recipes in the well-known Bolognese manuscript are referred<br />
to according to the numbering and pagination of Merrifield's edition (2).<br />
Relationships with two treatises in the Siena Biblioteca Comunale follow the<br />
numbering in Wallert's edition (3). To facilitate the understanding of these<br />
relationships, Simone's recipes-originally not numbered-are given numbers<br />
in brackets in this translation.<br />
The Simone manuscript is clearly not written by a person with a firsthand<br />
knowledge about the products and techniques he describes. Occasionally,<br />
Simone prescribes the wrong ingredients, gives only part of a recipe, or<br />
gives some recipes in which the final outcome clearly will not be the result<br />
promised by the heading; obviously, he was not a craftsman. Sometimes his<br />
descriptions are too succinct to be fully understood by the uninitiated or<br />
modern reader. In those cases I have added to the Simone text, placing these<br />
additions in brackets to distinguish them from the original text and to make<br />
the recipes more intelligible.<br />
With folio 10v, Simone begins a book on various colors and grounds to lay<br />
gold (Fig. 2). Following is the text of folios 10v-13v (page changes in the<br />
original will be noted here with the symbol {}):<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
[1] How to make a gold ground. Take fine, slaked gypsum, as much as the size<br />
of a nut, and grind it with a little bit of clear water. Then take Armenian<br />
bole, as much as a chickpea or a bean, and grind this separately, and also with<br />
water. Having done this, mix them together, take some dissolved glue and<br />
add it. Next have a bit of candy or sugar and some earwax and grind it gently<br />
together. The glue must be so strong that the whole matter sticks a little bit<br />
to the porphyry stone when you grind it. Then you keep it warm above<br />
some hot coals. When you work with it you can add some glue so that it<br />
will be a bit fluid. Let the dissolved glue stand a few days so that it comes<br />
from the fire with better strength. Now you can work with it. When the<br />
work is dry, scrape it until it is smooth. Then wet it with clear water and lay<br />
the gold on it. Press on it when it is dry. If the gold ground would be too<br />
weak for you, distemper it: you can put a bit of glair in the water (4).<br />
[2] To make lines of burnished gold. Take slaked gypsum, grind it with glair and<br />
a bit of honey, some earwax, and a bit of glue. Let it dry [when applied], then<br />
huff on it and lay the gold. Burnish it (5).<br />
[3] To make lines of gold in another way. Take [gum] ammoniac and grind it<br />
without water or anything else. Then take garlic juice and grind it with it.<br />
Next add a little bit of Armenian bole to it. Work with it. When this is done;<br />
huff on it and lay the gold on it (6).<br />
[4] To make the blue clothlets. Take a plant called turnsole, of which you pick<br />
one-by-one the flowers and clustering {llr} berries. Then you put these in<br />
a mortar, according to the quantity you want to make. Crush them and press<br />
the juice out of the aforesaid berries. You put this juice in a glazed bowl and<br />
then you take pieces of cloth that are white and coarse. Then you put these<br />
into the aforementioned bowl [with the juice] and let them soak well in it.<br />
Do this three times, and every time that you take it out of the mentioned<br />
bowl, you let it dry well on a wooden bench. Before you reach this stage,<br />
make sure you find a remote quiet hole in the ground, and urinate much in<br />
it, six days before you come to make the said turnsole. Take straw and make<br />
a screen over the urine and place the cloths above the humidity of this urine.<br />
Thus it will become darker and more beautiful, and let it stand there for at<br />
least twenty days above the aforesaid urine and then the turnsole will have<br />
become beautiful.<br />
You prepare it as follows: Take glair according to the quantity you think this<br />
turnsole needs to have to become deeply colored. When you want to work<br />
with it, take this glair in a shell or some glazed small pot and then take the<br />
turns ole and put some of it in according to the right amount and let it stand<br />
[in the glair] for an hour and then press it out with your finger and the juice<br />
that comes out of the clothlet is the turnsole. With this you can work, using<br />
a little bit at a time (7).<br />
[5] To make a fine ink. If you want to make a fine ink, take one pound of<br />
galls. Break it into smaller pieces and put it in ten pounds of rainwater or<br />
water from the pot. Let it boil in a pot that has not previously been used,<br />
until the volume of this water is reduced to half. Next sieve it and throw out<br />
the substance of the galls and put the water back in after you have washed<br />
the jar. {11 v} Having this done, put in five pounds of the softest white wine<br />
you can find, i.e. replacing the amount of water that has evaporated. Let it<br />
cook and when it starts to boil, put in half a pound of perfectly pulverized<br />
gum Arabic, adding this bit by bit while stirring with an iron cane until the<br />
gum is dissolved. When that is done, take the aforesaid vase from the fire and<br />
then put in half a pound of perfectly pulverized Roman vitriol. Then cover<br />
it, so that no dust can get into it and let it stand for three or fo ur days on a<br />
quiet place, because when you leave it alone it becomes more beautiful and<br />
blacker. Then without forcing it, sieve it through a cloth into a glazed pot.<br />
And if you want this to be right, you sieve it after 15 days three times. Know<br />
that the vitriol loses its quality through smoke, that is why one does not heat<br />
it on the fire. If you cannot find white wine, you may take red wine, which<br />
Wallert 39
should be fresh and clear and of little color. Know that the quality of the<br />
right gum can be recognized in that it is difficult to break. The gum that<br />
comes in small grains is much better. The good quality Roman vitriol can<br />
be recognized by its blue color and [its texture], in that it is hard and grainy,<br />
like coarse salt. It is sufficiently good when the rain water or river water is<br />
soft, but better is that which comes from the fo untain. Good galls are recognized<br />
by their being small and wrinkled, and hard inside (8).<br />
[6] To make a good yellow. Take an egg and take out the white of it and put<br />
it in a glazed pot. Put in as much saffron as seems right to you. Take a wooden<br />
mixer and beat it so much that the egg white breaks and becomes nicely<br />
yellow. Then take a fine clothlet and sieve [the glair mixture] through it in a<br />
glazed dish and leave it {12r} in the sun to dry. Then take it out, keep it dry,<br />
and when you want to work with it, grind it with a little bit of water and a<br />
few drops of glair (9).<br />
[7] To make a fine lac. Take a man's urine, as much as you need, put it in a<br />
bowl and let it stand for eight days. Then put it in a pot and let it boil so<br />
long that there is no foam anymore. Then percolate it through strong ashes,<br />
so that the liquid that comes through is like a lye. When you have sieved it;<br />
take coarse gum lac and crush it until gets the appearance of bread crumbs,<br />
put it in a new pot, and put in the said ... (10).<br />
[8] To make indigo. Take flower of woad and flour of grain. Make a dough<br />
of it with urine and with vinegar. Make a cake of it and dry it in the sun.<br />
And if it is too light, take more flower of woad and mix it again until it takes<br />
on the color you want (11).<br />
[9] How to make vermilion. Take one part of mercury and one of white sulfur,<br />
as much of one as of the other. Put it in a glass bottle, thoroughly clad with<br />
clay. Put it on a moderate fire and cover the mouth of the bottle with a tile.<br />
Close it when you see yellow smoke coming out of the bottle, until you see<br />
the red and almost vermilion-colored smoke. Then take it from the fire and<br />
the vermilion will be ready (12).<br />
[10] To make burnished gold lines. Take slaked gypsum, ground with glair and<br />
a bit of honey, and some earwax subtly ground together with a little bit of<br />
bone glue. Let it dry when you have applied it. Then huff on it, lay on the<br />
gold, and polish it (13).<br />
[11] A way to test whether the ultramarine blue is good. Take an iron knife and<br />
hold it in the fire. Then take a little bit of the blue and put it on this<br />
knife, and if it is good {12v} it will become more beautiful and of a tender<br />
color. If it is not good, it will become black like ink (14).<br />
[12] To make blue. Take a glass pot and put in it fresh sulfur and mercury,<br />
thoroughly mixed. And take two parts of sulfur to three parts of mercury.<br />
Clad the pot with white potters clay and make sure that this is thoroughly<br />
mixed with horse dung. Put this to heat well on the fire, until the smoke<br />
comes out of it. Then take it off the fire and it will be a perfect blue (15).<br />
[13] To make a blue water. Take from the elder tree the berries with the<br />
kernels, at the time when they are in the stage between green and ripe. Cook<br />
them in a kettle and when they are boiled enough, take a cloth and squeeze<br />
the juice that comes out of them in a glass or glazed pot. Then temper it<br />
with urine and use it as a painter's color. When it is dry you can lightly paint<br />
with the juice oflilies with a brush on it, and it will be a blue color. Similarly,<br />
you can dye cloths with it or paper to write on with letters in gold.<br />
[14] How to make red lead. Heat litharge together with rasped lead in the fire.<br />
This makes the red lead.<br />
[15] How to make the dark "verzino. " If you wish to make the dark verzino,<br />
take about a "quarto" of rasped brazilwood. Put it in a beaker. Take white of<br />
egg, thoroughly beaten fine with a sponge and put it fo r eight days in a bottle<br />
with some realgar. Mix it together after those days. Then sieve this verzino<br />
40<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
into a glass, and put in a bit of well ground alum, of about the size of a<br />
chickpea. Then take a piece of white linen and sieve the verzino and put it<br />
{ 13r} in a glazed bowl and put it to dry in a place where there is no sun,<br />
until it is dry. With the verzino you can make red. When you work with it,<br />
put a little bit of it in the shell and add a little bit of clear water (16).<br />
[16] How to make green. Take arzica and grind it and then you add pale azurite<br />
blue, so much that it takes the color you want. Know that the greens that are<br />
made with arzica need only a little bit of medium.<br />
[17] To make "p urpurina. " Take similar amounts of mercury and tin and have<br />
them amalgamated together and when they thus are thoroughly combined,<br />
let it cool down and grind it together. But first take "caschina" [?], which is<br />
separately ground very well (17). Then take an oven with red hot coals and<br />
put [the ingredients] in a bottle or pot on the lit coals, and let it stand until<br />
smoke comes off, and make sure that mouth of the bottle stays open.<br />
[18] To take letters off from the parchment. Take one pound of saltpeter, one<br />
pound of vitriol, and distill it. Then take a sponge, dip it into this water, rub<br />
it on the parchment and the letters will disappear (18).<br />
[19] To make "origno" (19). Take lead and sulfur and nitric salt and mercury<br />
in the same quantities together and put it in a bottle of which the mouth is<br />
wide (20, 21). Put it on a moderate fire and when it starts to look glittery<br />
like gold on the mouth of the bottle, take it off the fire and it will be done<br />
(22).<br />
[20] To make red. Take very well ground eggshells, treat them on the stone<br />
and put them in a new, hollow brick. And take verzino and boil it with a<br />
little bit of roche alum and pour it on the eggshells. Mix it and of this you<br />
add until is becomes as light as you wish (23). {13v}<br />
[21] To make the yellow "arzicha. " Take very well ground eggshells and put<br />
them in the hollow of a new brick. Take the weld herb of the textile dyers<br />
and let it boil in water with a little bit of alum. Pour it on the eggshells and<br />
thus make it as light or as dark as you wish (24).<br />
[22] To make green. Take arzicha and azurite blue and mix it together and if<br />
you want to make a darker green, you must add more blue. Distemper it<br />
with gum water.<br />
[23] To make shades on the arzicha. Take saffron, tempered with white of egg.<br />
[24] To make gold ground. Take lead white and Armenian bole, some earwax<br />
and saffron. Temper it with white of egg a little bit of saffron and a bit of<br />
"bandoli"(?). Grind it with water.<br />
[25] To make letters in gold with the pen. Take lead white, and make eight parts<br />
of it, and take an amount of honey of one of these eight parts and grind it<br />
with white of egg and a pinch of saffron.<br />
[26] To lay bole on gesso. You want to mix it with glair and then grind it with<br />
clear water.<br />
[27] To make gold letters. Take a bit of bole and some burned chalk, about<br />
half the amount of the bole and take three or four times as much slaked<br />
gypsum and grind it with glair.<br />
[28] To make lines in gold. Take slaked gypsum, ground with glair in a bit of<br />
honey, a little bit of earwax, and a bit of glue. Let it dry. Then huff on it, lay<br />
the gold leaf on it and burnish it (25).<br />
[29] To make gold you can apply with the pen. If you want to prepare gold that<br />
you can work with the pen, take beaten gold leaves-Praise God.<br />
End. {15v}<br />
The following text is from folios 15v-20v, one page of which is shown in<br />
Figure 3:<br />
Wallert 41
[30] To make gum water for paints. Take of the white gum Arabic, the quantity<br />
you need and put it in a beaker. Next take clear water and put it in this<br />
beaker, so much that it covers the gum about two fingers wide. Place it in<br />
the sun. If there is no sun, put it near the fire and let it stand there for three<br />
or fo ur hours, until the gum dissolves. Then take it from the fire, and let it<br />
stand for two days, but {16r} make sure that you stir it every fo ur hours.<br />
Next sieve it through a cloth and cover it until you will work with it. This<br />
IS proven.<br />
[31] To make egg medium to temper the colors. Take as much white of egg as<br />
you want and put it in a very clean pot. Then take fo ur sponges bound<br />
together at the top and knead with both hands so that the white of eggs<br />
completely turns into such a froth that it will not even fall out if you turn<br />
the pot upside down. Let it stand from the morning until the evening until<br />
it settles and then put it in a bottle. And put some camphor in this bottle so<br />
that, not even after a year, will it go bad.<br />
Figure 3. Rome, Biblioteca Casanatense,<br />
MS 1793, fol. 17r.<br />
[32] To make a watercolor like gold. Take this previously described glair and put<br />
a little bit of saffron in it; and if you put in more yellow it will all be like<br />
gold.<br />
[33] To grind and clean vermilion for writing and miniature painting. Take as much<br />
vermilion as you think you need, grind it very fine with water on the porphyry<br />
stone. Then let it dry on the stone. Then grind it very fine fo r the<br />
second time. Next put it in a glass horn and temper it with the aforesaid<br />
glair and let it stand fo r three or fo ur hours until the vermilion has settled<br />
on the bottom. Then carefully decant the supernatant liquid and replace it<br />
fo r new glair. And keep on doing this for two or three times. Thereafter write<br />
with this on your paper. When you think it is not shiny enough, make the<br />
letters you want, large or small, let them dry and then lightly lay with the<br />
brush some of the previously described yellow on it and it will be very shiny<br />
(26).<br />
[34] To make green for writing and miniature painting. Take purple lilies and pick<br />
only the petals of these. Pound them and take of the juice. You should know<br />
that this juice is of a purple color. When you add a bit of roche alum, that<br />
is, to a beaker of juice about a chestnut of well pulverized alum, it will turn<br />
blue. Then take pieces of linen cloth and put them to soak very well in this<br />
juice. Then lay it [the cloth] on the grid [to dry], and then it must be soaked<br />
another time so that it will better take on the color. And in between you let<br />
it dry on the grid.<br />
[35] To make blue clothlet colors. Take certain flowers, that grow between the<br />
corn, which have five petals and have the color of a purple lily. Take the<br />
petals and rub these leaves in a piece of old linen. Let it dry and if you feel<br />
that the linen does not take enough color, repeat the treatment fo r a second<br />
time. You can also take the flowers that are called "fior di lebio" or "ibio,"<br />
which also grow between the corn. Pick, when you begin, the flowers that<br />
have a sky blue color and have lots of petals. Pick the petals of these flowers<br />
and squeeze them bit-by-bit with your fingers. Next press them well together,<br />
take out the juice and then soak the linen in it and let it dry on the grid.<br />
{17v} Also: take the petals of the "fior di lino" and crush them and put the<br />
pieces of linen in this juice (27). Let them dry in the same way as described<br />
before and if the pieces of linen would not take up enough color the first<br />
time, dip them in again (28).<br />
[36] To make red clothlets fo r writing and miniature painting. Take the leaves of<br />
"bietoli," also called "gelosia," and let them dry a bit and then rub these leaves<br />
in a piece of linen cloth and if it does not have enough color for you, rub<br />
in more until you think it is right (29, 30). You should know that the leaves<br />
need to be dried because they have a certain humidity of water in them.<br />
Therefore, one lets them dry, which consumes this humidity, so that only the<br />
color remains.<br />
42<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
[37] To make crude verzino for writing and miniature painting. Take the brazilwood<br />
and finely scrape of the quantity you think you need, with a piece of glass.<br />
Put these scrapings in a new glass. Add so much vinegar to it, that it covers<br />
the brazilwood half a fmger's width, and not more. The vinegar must be<br />
strong and clear. Add to the substance in this glass the quantity of about a<br />
bean of gum Arabic and the same amount of well-pulverized roche alum.<br />
Place it in the sun and make sure that the glass is well covered. Keep it this<br />
way for three or four days. If there is no sun, then keep it for four days so<br />
close to the fire that it gets lukewarm. When it is warmed this way, put it in<br />
shells as shown here, and let it stand in these shells, until it seems done to<br />
you. Know that the longer it remains, the better it is. Next put it in a bottle.<br />
{17v} Write with this on your work. If you want to make red clothlet colors<br />
of it, dip in to soak the pieces of cloth and let them dry in the previously<br />
described way, except that in the making of the clothIets [neither] the alum<br />
nor the gum Arabic should be used.<br />
[38] To make a purple clothlet for writing and miniature painting. Take the petals<br />
of the "papatello," which is a sort of wild poppy. Crush them and take out<br />
the juice. To one glass of juice it needs to have about the size of a bean of<br />
well-pulverized roche alum. Then dip in the piece of cloth, once or twice,<br />
until you think that it has taken enough of the color.<br />
[39] To make a beautiful blue at little cost. Take quicklime and green and ground<br />
verdigris and sal armoniac, as much of one as of the other. Grind these all<br />
together with urine and you will see a beautiful blue. Temper it with the<br />
previously described glair, when you want to work with it (31).<br />
[40] To make invisible letters, which you cannot see unless near the fire. Take sal<br />
armoniac, the amount of it is about the size of a chestnut to half a glass of<br />
water. Write with this water when it is dissolved, and if you want to read it<br />
you heat the parchment near the fire and the letters will appear as if they<br />
were written in ink.<br />
[41] To make black letters with every water you write. Take galls and vitriol, as<br />
much of one as of the other. Grind it and sieve it and put it on the parchment<br />
like a varnish coating. Next write on this with any water you want and while<br />
you are writing the letters will appear black.<br />
[42] To erase letters from goatskin parchment without a scraping iron. Take the juice<br />
of a lemon or of a strong orange and immerse {18r} a sponge in it. Rub<br />
with this sponge on the letters and they will be taken off as if they never had<br />
been written.<br />
[43] To make a ground fo r gold. Take slaked gypsum, as much as you need, and<br />
Armenian bole about one third of the gypsum, and of aloe one third of the<br />
bole. Then grind everything together very fine with water on the porphyry<br />
stone. Let it dry on the porphyry stone and then grind it again very fine.<br />
Add a little bit of candy sugar and when it is ground enough, gather it in a<br />
glazed horn and temper it with equal quantities of the aforesaid glair and<br />
water of animal glue, that is hide glue. Make this gold ground so liquid that<br />
it flows from the pen and write whatever you want. And if it appears not to<br />
have enough volume, write over it a second time, like before. Scrape it carefully<br />
with a scraping iron when it is dry, so that the letter will be plane and<br />
smooth. When you want to lay the gold, huff on the letter and immediately<br />
lay the leaf of gold or silver. Press on it with the calf's tooth. Then clean it<br />
with some cotton wool so that what sticks out from the letter will be wiped<br />
off. If you want to make a head of a frame with this gold ground with the<br />
brush like described, paint it over the first application and then scrape it and<br />
lay the gold.<br />
[44] To make French glue for many purposes. Take animal glue, i.e. bone glue,<br />
and put it to soak in so much water that it covers the glue. Put it to soak in<br />
the evening and put it on the fire in the morning. When you soak it, it does<br />
not matter {18v} if there is not enough water to cover it completely, because<br />
Wallert 43
when the lather covers it about the width of a finger it is good enough.<br />
When you have had it cooking fo r a while, take it from the fire and immediately<br />
add four or five hard and fresh pieces of chicken dung. Then you<br />
sieve it through a straining cloth, without wringing it. Then put as much as<br />
you need of it back in the water and use it as it pleases you.<br />
[45] To color and lay gold on oranges and other fruits. Take previously described<br />
glue and douse your hands in it. Rub with these washed hands the orange<br />
or any another apple very well. Let it dry. Then wet your hands again and<br />
rub this fruit again until it has taken on the glue well. Then give it the color<br />
you want it to take. But if you wish to be it in gold, be it as letters or in<br />
gold leaves, do as follows: Take armoniac, very well ground with urine on<br />
the porphyry stone. Distemper it with urine, but not so much that it flows<br />
from the pen, because the letters or the leaves want to be done with the<br />
brush over the colors with this armoniac. Let it dry. Next take the gold leaf<br />
and put it on the letters. But you should know that the letters first need to<br />
be warmed up with the knife. Then, when the gold is laid, immediately press<br />
lightly on it with cottonwool. Then rub with the cottonwool over the letters<br />
so that the gold that does not adhere to the letters is taken off. You can also<br />
give it beautiful, nice colors.<br />
[46] To make a tragacanth gum paste oj any color you want, to make reliifs. Take<br />
as much tragacanth gum as you want and put it in a glass or a dish, and add<br />
so much vinegar that it covers the tragacanth. But the vinegar you put in<br />
should be strong. Let it stand to soak fo r two days and two nights. Then take<br />
slaked gypsum which is dry. Next take lead white and triturate it very well<br />
with the tragacanth in a mortar. But put on the bottom of the mortar {19r}<br />
a bit of the gypsum so that the lead white and the tragacanth will not stick<br />
to the mortar. To prevent it from sticking to the pestle, put also some gypsum<br />
on that. Pound it well and it will become a paste as white as cottonwool. If<br />
you want the paste to become black, do as follows: Take a lit candle and over<br />
the flame you hold a piece of tinned iron so close that it touches the flame,<br />
whose smoke will deposit in a black spot. Take this deposit and rub it together<br />
with the paste. And the more you put into it the better it will be. Grind it<br />
with indigo if you want it to be blue, and if you put in little, it will be light<br />
blue, and it will be dark blue if you put much more indigo in it. If you want<br />
it to be red, put in vermilion which has been finely ground on the porphyry<br />
stone. The more you put in, the redder it will be. If you add little of it, it<br />
will be of a flesh tone. Put in a bit of well pulverized verdigris if you want<br />
.it to be green. If you want it to be yellow, put in some well ground orpiment.<br />
If you want it to be a purple color, put in a bit of lac. Know that the more<br />
of these colors you put in, the stronger colored it will be. The paste you thus<br />
make should be a little bit harder and you make it in such a way that you<br />
grind it again many times with the previously mentioned things. To make a<br />
good paste and to prevent it from sticking, either to the mortar, or to the<br />
pestle, knead a piece of it in your hand. When you want make it in a mold,<br />
take some of the soft paste that fits on the blade of a knife, or even less. But<br />
if you want to let it harden in a lead or clay mold, clad the form with some<br />
cotton so that the paste will not get stuck to the mold. Apply some warm<br />
bone glue in the areas where you want to do some modeling or make foliage.<br />
That will do it.<br />
[47] Papier mache to make reliifs. Take scraps of the paper cuttings from books<br />
and put them to boil in a kettle. When it has boiled, take the scraps out and<br />
pound them fine in a bronze {19v} mortar. Then let it boil a second time.<br />
Take the kettle from the fire once it has boiled and let it cool down. When<br />
it is cold enough to have your hands in it, take this paper pulp out. Squeeze<br />
the water out, make balls of it and let them dry. When you want to make<br />
reliefs with it, put these balls to soak in hot water during one or two days.<br />
When the water is cooled down enough to have your hands in it, break the<br />
balls and stir. It will become like a dough. This paste spreads smoothly. Apply<br />
44<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
it on what you are working, with a scuilie, so that it spreads. Press everywhere<br />
on it with a sponge, as you work with the paper pulp without glue.<br />
[48] To make cork board fo r making reliif. Take good writing paper, which is<br />
smooth and with a little glue. Place them between washcloths. Always fold<br />
the cloths in four quarters, placing the paper in between. Put it in boiling<br />
water, making sure that it does not become brownish or stained by lye. Then<br />
take it out and let it dry on the grid. When it is a bit dry, you can work<br />
with it. It is best to work with water, so warm that you can just stand to have<br />
your hand in it.<br />
[49] To make letters, big or small, in gold. Take the milky juice of a fig tree<br />
and put as much as you think you need in a dish. Next take good black ink,<br />
which is rich in gum, and put so much of it in that the juice looks black.<br />
Write with it. When the letters are written, you huff on it and immediately<br />
lay the gold on it. Burnish with the tooth, and then rub the letters with<br />
cottonwool and where you have huffed on the ground, the gold will stick<br />
and the rest will be taken off (32).<br />
[50] Another way. Take Armenian bole and grind it with clear water very fine<br />
on the porphyry stone. Let it dry on the stone. Then grind it again with<br />
water and let it again dry on the stone. Then grind it again with the aforesaid<br />
milky juice. When ground, {20r} gather what you have in a horn of glass,<br />
or of glazed earthenware. Temper this so much that it flows from the pen.<br />
[51] To make secret writings. Take well pounded and sieved galls and put it to<br />
soak in water. Let it stand in the water until it settles to the bottom. Four<br />
glasses of this powder go to one glass of water. Write with this water whatever<br />
you want. Take, when you want to read it, vitriol and put it in water, with<br />
which you wet these letters. The letters, which you will be able to read, will<br />
now appear.<br />
[52] To make the blue clothlet. Take a plant which is called turnsole whose<br />
flowers and clustering berries you pick one-by-one. Then you put these in<br />
a mortar, according to the quantity you want to make of it. Crush them and<br />
take the juice out. Put this juice in a glazed bowl and then you take pieces<br />
of cloth that are white and coarse. Then you immerse them in the bowl [with<br />
the juice] and let them soak well in it.<br />
Do this three times, and every time that you that you take it out of this bowl,<br />
you let it dry well on a wooden bench. Before you reach this stage, you have<br />
to find a remote quiet place in the ground, and urinate much in it, six days<br />
before you come to make the said turnsole. Then, to place it above the<br />
humidity of this urine, take straw and make a fabric over the urine, and place<br />
the cloths on it. Let it stand fo r at least twenty days above the aforesaid urine<br />
to make it darker and more beautiful.<br />
The best turnsole is made in this way: First, take glair according to the quantity<br />
you want to make. You may wish to use amounts small enough that the<br />
said turns ole will be {20v} strongly colored. When you want to work with<br />
it, take the glair and put it in a shell or in a small glazed jar. Then take the<br />
turnsole and put some of it in, according to the right proportion and let it<br />
stand [in the glair] fo r an hour. Then press it out with your finger and the<br />
juice that comes out of the clothlet is the turnsole. Always prepare a little bit<br />
at a time because that is better.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Constraints of space in the present volume made it impossible to publish a true<br />
bilingual text edition (with a transcript of the original printed next to the translation).<br />
A copy of my transcript, however, is available upon request.<br />
2. Merrifield, M. P. 1849. Original Treatises, Dating from the XIIth to the XVIIlth<br />
Centuries on the Arts of Painting in Oil, Miniature, Mosaic, and on Glass; of Gilding,<br />
Dyeing, and the Preparation of Colours and Artificial Gems, Vol. II. London: John<br />
Murray, 325-547. References to the so-called Bolognese manuscript (Segreti per<br />
Wallert 45
Colori, Biblioteca Universitaria MS 1536) are given as Bo1. MS, followed by<br />
recipe number and page number in Merrifield's publication.<br />
3. Wallert, A. 1991. Kookboeken en Koorboeken, Techniek en productie van boekverluchting<br />
in koorboeken van het klooster Monte Oliveto Maggiore. Groningen: Groningse Universiteits<br />
Drukkerij. References to Ambruogio da Sienas Ricepte daffare pili colori,<br />
Siena Biblioteca Comunale MS 1.JI.19, fols. 99r-106r, are given as Siena<br />
MS I, followed by recipe number and page number in Wallert's edition. The<br />
indication Siena MS II with recipe and page number refers to the edition in the<br />
same publication of Bartolomeo da Sienas Experientie, Siena Biblioteca Comunale,<br />
MS L.XI.41, fols. 34v-39v.<br />
4. This recipe is an abbrieviated version of Siena MS II, XVIII, p. 45. A version in<br />
Latin of the same recipe is in Bo1. MS, 160, p. 467.<br />
5. Alexander, S. M. 1965. Medieval recipes describing the use of metals in manuscripts.<br />
Marsyas (XII) :34-51.<br />
6. An identical recipe is in Siena MS I, recipe XXIV, p. 35. An abbreviated version<br />
of this recipe is in Oxford (Bodleian Library, MS Conon. Misc. 128, fo1. 2v): "A<br />
mettere oro in carta."<br />
7. Wallert, A. 1990. Chrozophora tinctoria Juss.: Problems in identifying an illumination<br />
colorant. Restaurator (1 1):141-55.<br />
8. Identical recipe in Siena MS I, XVIII, p. 31. Similar descriptions of ingredients<br />
are given in Siena MS II, III, p. 37; Bo1. MS 389; and Bo1. MS 390, p. 597. Also<br />
see Zerdoun Bat-Jehouda, M. 1980. La fabrication des encres noires d'apres les<br />
textes, Codicologica 5; Les materiaux du livre manuscrit, Litterae textuales Leiden.<br />
9. Kuhn, H., 1961, Safran und dessen Nachweis durch Infrarotspektrographie in<br />
Malerei und Kunsthandwerk, Leitz-Mitteilungen fUr Wissenschaft und Technik,<br />
Bd 11, (1):24-28. See also Straub, R. E. 1965. Der Traktat "De Clarea" in der<br />
Burgerbibliothek Bern, Schweizerisches Institut ju r Kunstwissenschajt, jahresbericht<br />
(12):89-1 14.<br />
10. The same but more complete recipe can be found in Bo1. MS 129, p. 447.<br />
11. Identical recipe Siena MS I, XXIII, p. 35. This recipe recurs in a slightly more<br />
elaborate form in Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Conon. Mise. 128, fo1. 21r and<br />
also in Bo1. MS, 77, p. 415, and Bo1. MS, 80, p. 417.<br />
12. Brachert, E and T. 1980. Zinnober. Maltechnik / Restauro (86):145-59.<br />
13. Siena MS II, XlV, p. 49.; Siena MS I, Xv, p. 29.<br />
14. Siena MS II, XII, p. 41. Also see Kurella, A., and I. Strauss. 1983. Lapis lazuli und<br />
naturliches Ultramarin. Maltechnik / Restauro (89):34-55.<br />
15. This recipe will not result in the promised blue pigment, but rather in the<br />
formation of the red mercuric sulphide. On the "azure-vermilion tangle," see<br />
Thompson, D. V 1956. The Materials and Techniques oj Medieval Painting. New<br />
York: Dover Reprints, 155.<br />
16. An identical recipe can be fo und in Siena MS I, XII, p. 29. Also similarities with<br />
Modena, Biblioteca Estense, MS ex.T.7.3., fo1. lOv. Also see Wallert, A. 1986.<br />
Verzino and Roseta Colours in 15th Century Italian Manuscripts. Maltechnik /<br />
Restauro (92):52-70.<br />
17. The recipe requires at this point the use of sulphur to be practically applicable.<br />
It is not clear what is meant by "cashina."<br />
18. Similar in Siena MS I, XXI, p. 32, and Siena MS II, XXI, p. 46.<br />
19. Probably a corruption of "porporino," a golden glistening tin (II) sulphide.<br />
20. The recipe calls for lead. Any useful pigment, however, can only be obtained if<br />
this lead were replaced with tin.<br />
21. The nitric salt, "sal nitro," should have been "sal armonic," i.e., al11110nium chloride.<br />
22. This recipe is slightly more intelligible than Simone's recipe 17. See Schiessl, U.<br />
1981. Musivgold, eine pigmentgeschichtliche Skizze. Maltechnik / Restauro (87):<br />
219-30.<br />
23. Florence, Biblioteca Nazionale, MS Magliabecchiana CL XV 8bis, fo1. 14v. More<br />
elaborate variations are in Siena MS I, III, p. 23, and in Florence, Biblioteca<br />
Laurenziana, MS Ashburnhamia 349, fols. 80v-81r.<br />
24. The weld herb of the dyers is Reseda luteola L. See Stoll, A. M. 1981. Gelbe<br />
Pflanzenlacke, Schuttgelb und Safran. Maltechnik / Restauro (87):73-1 11.<br />
25. An identical recipe can be found in Florence, Biblioteca Nazionale, MS Palatina<br />
916, fo1. 110r, "Affare profili d'oro brunito." A related recipe occurs in Bo1. MS,<br />
162, p. 469.<br />
26. This recipe occurs in a slighly more elaborate version in Siena MS II, VI, p. 39.<br />
27. Fior di lino is the cornflower, Centaurea cyanus L.<br />
46<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
28. On these "clothlet colors," see Wallert, A. 1993. Natural organic colorants on<br />
medieval parchment: anthocyanins. ICOM Committee fo r Conservation Preprints,<br />
516-23; and Willhauk, N. 1981. Farbprobleme spatmittelalterlicher Buchmalerei.<br />
Restaurator (1-2):103-34.<br />
29. Bietola is a beet or garden beet; bietolina = weld (Reseda luteola) (?).<br />
30. A plant with the same name, gilosia (Amaranthus tricolor?), is mentioned in Bol.<br />
MS, 117, p. 439, for making a purple clothlet color.<br />
31. Gettens R. J., and E. West Fitzhugh. 1966. Azurite and blue verditer. Studies in<br />
Conservation (2): 54-61.<br />
32. Quite similar is Siena MS I, IV, p. 22. In Simone's manuscript, however, the<br />
vermilion prescribed by Ambruogio is replaced for a black ink. The recipe recurs<br />
in a rather abbreviated version in Florence, Biblioteca Laurenziana, MS Ashburnhamia<br />
349, fol. 84v.<br />
Wallert 47
Abstract<br />
Primary sources can be extremely<br />
valuable for the study of <strong>historical</strong><br />
painting techniques, materials, and<br />
studio practice. Most authors of<br />
these treatises and manuals are either<br />
anonymous or little known. Quite<br />
often, therefore, no context for these<br />
books can be traced. In some cases,<br />
however, research on the author(s), if<br />
known, can reveal information that<br />
helps to interpret these sources,<br />
shedding light on the contents and<br />
their fu nction in studio practice. An<br />
example can be fo und in a seventeenth-century<br />
Italian treatise on<br />
miniature painting which, according<br />
to its title, was written by the miniaturist<br />
Valerio Mariani da Pesaro in<br />
1620. Research on this treatise has<br />
revealed some unexpected aspects of<br />
its authorship.<br />
A Seventeenth-Century Italian Treatise on Miniature<br />
Painting and Its Author(s)<br />
Erma Hermens<br />
Kunsthistorisch Instituut<br />
Rijksuniversiteit Leiden<br />
Doelensteeg 16<br />
Postbus 9515<br />
2300 RA Leiden<br />
The Netherlands<br />
The manuscripts<br />
The Leiden University Library owns a seventeenth-century Italian manuscript<br />
titled Della Miniatura, del Signor Valerio Mariani da Pesaro, Miniatore del serenissimo<br />
Signor Duca d' Urbino, del Signore Capitano Giorgio Maynwaringe, inglese,<br />
l'anno del Signore 1620, in Padova (sign. Voss. Ger. Gall. 5q). The manuscript,<br />
consisting of three sections, contains a treatise on miniature painting technique.<br />
The first section covers technical recipes for the preparation of pigments,<br />
dyestuffs and inks, binding media, and utensils such as pencils and<br />
brushes. The second section gives instructions on how to paint landscapes,<br />
and describes the mixtures of colors to use and the build-up in layers fo r the<br />
execution of different types of trees, weather conditions, water, sea, rocks,<br />
plants, mountains, villages, close-up and distant views, and so fo rth. The third<br />
and smallest section describes the mixtures of colors and the layering of colors<br />
used to depict skin and cloth in portrait painting.<br />
The recipes in the first section seem to be quite accurate, a result in part of<br />
the continuation of traditional methods, and in part of personal experiments<br />
by the writer. In general, one can say that the technique described is a watercolor<br />
technique fo r paper and parchment, in which the final effect is<br />
reached by using a mixture of pigments and dyestuffs or, as is more often and<br />
more typical fo r this treatise, by several layers of washes of colors.<br />
During the research on the treatise, two more manuscripts were found to be<br />
connected with the Leiden manuscript. One manuscript, owned by the Beinecke<br />
Library, Yale University (sign. MS 372), is entitled Della miniatura del<br />
Signore Valerio Mariani da Pesaro, miniatore del Duca d'Urbino con aggiunte d'altre<br />
cose per l'istessa professione dal Signor D. Antonello Bertozzi scrittore e miniatore in<br />
Padova, per me Francesco Manlio Romano, l'anno MDCXX. The second manuscript,<br />
entitled Ricordi di belli colon:, is part of the Urbinati Latini collection in<br />
the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Citta del Vaticano, Italy (sign. Urb. Lat.<br />
1280). The three manuscripts will be referred to here as the Leiden, Yale, and<br />
Rome manuscripts.<br />
The Yale manuscript, despite the differences in its title, is very similar to the<br />
Leiden manuscript, with only some minor variations in language. It contains,<br />
however, some extra pages at the end with additional recipes fo r pigments,<br />
paper dyeing, etching materials, as well as recipes fo r gunpowder, payments<br />
for books, a list of the quarters of Venice and other notes, some of them<br />
dated between 1614 and 1628. The extra recipes could be the "aggiunte<br />
d' altre cose per l'istessa professione dal Signor D. Antonello Bertozzi scrittore<br />
e miniatore in Padova."<br />
The Leiden manuscript contains a price list of pigments and dyestuffs and<br />
also a list of all materials needed by the miniatore. Both are lacking in the<br />
Yale manuscript (see Appendix doc. 1).<br />
The Rome manuscript covers only the second part of the Leiden and Yale<br />
manuscripts, that is, the part on landscape painting. We find here many differences<br />
in language and also in the sequence and length of the chapters. The<br />
Landscape section in the Leiden and Yale manuscripts is more extensive, as<br />
48<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
it also includes instructions fo r composition, the build-up of a miniature from<br />
a pencil drawing up to the final execution in paint, and so on. Some chapters<br />
are a combination of two or three short chapters from the Rome manuscript,<br />
covering more or less the same subjects. It seems that the writer of the treatise<br />
rearranged and expanded the text from the Rome manuscript to improve the<br />
contents (1).<br />
Valerio Mariani da Pesaro<br />
The miniaturist Valerio Mariani da Pesaro-the writer of the treatise, according<br />
to its title-is mentioned by Thieme-Becker as being active from<br />
1560 to 1600, and by Zani as living from 1565 to 1611, but further information<br />
on the treatise and its author seemed difficult to fmd (2). Archival<br />
research in Italy however proved otherwise, and the treatise can now be provided<br />
with an ample context.<br />
Mariani is described in Lancellotti's L'Hoggidi (1636) as a pupil of Giovanni<br />
Maria Boduino, a miniaturist who worked in Friuli (3). In a document from<br />
1582, Mariani is mentioned as the twelve-year-old pupil of Boduino, establishing<br />
Mariani's date of birth as 1570 (4). About Mariani's working environment<br />
after his training in Friuli, little information has been fo und so far. He<br />
worked, as he mentions in the treatise (Chapter XVI: Giallo Santo), for the<br />
Duke of Savoy: "Giallo santo is a colour which is extracted from the flower<br />
of the broom, as a painter in Borgo in Brescia taught me, while I stayed in<br />
that place in the service of the honourable memory of Duke Emanuele Filiberto,<br />
Duke of Savoy ..." (5). And, as can be read in the title of the treatise,<br />
he was also employed by the Duke of Urbino. According to the date of the<br />
treatise, this must have been Francesco Maria II della Rovere. The last known<br />
dates in Mariani's chronology are 1618, when he is mentioned as heir in his<br />
brother's will, and 1625, when he is mentioned as a debitore in the duke's<br />
bookkeeping (6).<br />
So far no documents on his work for the Savoy court or other employers<br />
have been fo und; therefore, we concentrate on Mariani's activities fo r the<br />
Urbino court, which provides us, as will become clear, with the context in<br />
which the treatise was written.<br />
Francesco Maria II della Rovere began his reign in 1574, after his father<br />
Guidobaldo II della Rovere died, leaving him with a bankrupt state. The<br />
young duke, who had a strict and sober upbringing at the court of Philip II,<br />
started a period of severe economizing, including trimming the court's cultural<br />
expenses. It was 1580 before the duke regained interest and renewed<br />
his financial backing fo r cultural and artistic activities. Many documents, as<br />
well as artworks he commissioned, survive the period of his reign, creating a<br />
clear image of the cultural policy and interests of the duke (7).<br />
As a contemporary chronicle states, "When Francesco Maria, the last Duke,<br />
had paid the large debts of his father Guidobaldo by stopping the many arts<br />
and famous crafts that were executed here, he changed his mind after seeing<br />
the severe consequences and ordered the fo undation of several workshops at<br />
his court where very excellent masters in every art and profession were put<br />
to work" (8). One such master was the miniaturist Valerio Mariani da Pesaro.<br />
These workshops fo rmed a well-organized business, providing artworks "to<br />
order" for the duke. As not only masters but apprentices were present, the<br />
workshops seem to provide the appropriate milieu for writing a technical<br />
manual. A sketch of the workshops will, therefore, be given.<br />
The workshops<br />
The duke made personal notes during the years 1580-1620 of all his "artistic<br />
expenses," including monthly payments to the botteghini (workshops) (9). He<br />
employed painters, sculptors, watchmakers, ebony workers, bookbinders, goldsmiths,<br />
and miniaturists in a lively and businesslike organization (10).<br />
Hermens<br />
49
The actual working areas of the botteghini were situated on the ground floor<br />
in the left wing of the ducal palace in Pesaro. There seems to have been an<br />
internal entrance from the palace (11). The botteghini also opened onto the<br />
street like small shops; indeed, the artists were permitted by the duke to accept<br />
orders from other clients. Some artists had their living quarters above the<br />
workshops; others who had families received money to rent housing elsewhere<br />
in Pesaro. They also received provisions, candles, and firewood, as can<br />
be read in a ledger (12).<br />
A supervisor was appointed with responsibility for the daily organization,<br />
provisions, and the supply of materials. Bills with lists of ordered materials,<br />
including pigments and brushes, are among the many surviving documents<br />
concerning the workshops (see Appendix doc. 2). The duke's commissions<br />
were not given by the duke personally but passed on by intermediaries, mostly<br />
noblemen employed as his secretaries or persons suitable because of their<br />
profession. These intermediaries also acted as the duke's representatives in the<br />
search for artists and artisans for the workshops. For example, the duke's ambassadors<br />
were ordered to search in Rome, Venice, and Florence fo r artists of<br />
the highest quality. The proposed artists had to send proof of their capacities<br />
which, according to the documents, was quite often rejected by the duke.<br />
In 1581 the duke asked his ambassador in Rome, Baldo Falcucci, to find him<br />
a miniaturist. From 1582 on, a "miniatore" is mentioned in the lists of workshop<br />
employees (13). In many instances, the name of the artist is not given<br />
but a "maestro Valerio miniatore" appears from 1603 to 1605. Although employee<br />
lists from 1605 on are missing, Mariani's activities at the court of<br />
Urbino most likely continued.<br />
Figure 1. Detail from the Battle of San Fabiano,<br />
illustrated in Plate 7a, showing the<br />
center scene where the sketchy underdrawing is<br />
clearly visible. Photograph by E. Buzzegoli,<br />
LAboratorio di Restauro. Courtesy of the UjJ<br />
izi Gallery, Florence.<br />
Mariani's activities can be traced not only in documents but also in many<br />
miniatures. The Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana has three illustrated manuscripts<br />
attributed to Mariani, in addition to a part of the Purgatorio and all<br />
the miniatures of the famous Dante Urbinate's Paradiso (14). The Galleria<br />
Palatina in Florence owns two series of miniatures, framed in black ebony<br />
frames, with scenes from the lives of Christ and Mary, miracles, and martyred<br />
saints. The Uffizi owns the only miniature with Mariani's signature, a battle<br />
scene from the life of Federico da Montefeltro (15) (Plate 7a). This miniature<br />
is of great interest as we can compare the techniques used with those as<br />
described in the treatise, thus comparing practice with theory. The miniature<br />
is kept in a dark cabinet; the colors are, therefore, in extremely good condition.<br />
A study of the miniature using microscopy made clear that the standard<br />
technique of washes was used. Specific comparisons (i.e., the build-up of the<br />
trees, background with the village, bluish mountains and sky, etc.) with chapters<br />
in the landscape section of the treatise, show that Mariani is following<br />
the instructions given there. The miniature has a very sketchy underdrawing-which<br />
can be seen with the naked eye but is even more clearly apparent<br />
with an infrared camera-that has been traced in some places with a brownish<br />
ink (Fig. 1) (16). A blue-black ink is also used to emphasize contours and<br />
shadows. On the underdrawing, the paint is most often added in transparent<br />
layers using the techniques described in the treatise.<br />
Mariani was known for his technical abilities; Lancellotti described him as a<br />
pupil of Boduino who "surpassed his master in patience, and his miniatures<br />
were owned by the most important princes in the world." They both "kept<br />
a secret of how to grind gold in the Persian way for miniature painting and<br />
writing, that stayed stable as the antique [gold] " (17).<br />
Although the preceding paragraphs comprise a short resume of the research<br />
results so far, it is clear that we are considering a treatise that can be placed<br />
in an interesting context, offering a unique possibility of comparing the theory<br />
of the treatise with the practice as laid down in Mariani's work. The<br />
context of the workshops, and Mariani's obvious technical skills, make it plausible<br />
that the treatise was written as a manual to be used in the workshop.<br />
50<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Ricordi di belli colori<br />
Initially it seemed reasonable to assume that the Rome manuscript was writter.<br />
Sy Mariani as a draft version of the landscape section. The manuscript<br />
wa, then reworked and expanded for the larger treatise of which, presumably,<br />
both the Leiden and Yale manuscripts are copies. However, there are some<br />
remarkable features that made us continue the search fo r the origin of the<br />
Rome manuscript, leading to interesting results.<br />
The manuscript's text covers most of the chapters on specific landscape elements<br />
that are present in the Leiden and Yale manuscripts, but lacks the<br />
chapters on composition and underdrawing. There are also considerable differences<br />
in the order and composition of the chapters and in the language,<br />
as well as some repetitions and crossing out of text. First, a comparison with<br />
other Italian treatises on painting technique from the sixteenth and early<br />
seventeenth century shows that no specific attention is given to landscape<br />
painting, especially not in such great detail as we see in the Rome manuscript.<br />
Landscape painting of that period was simply a Flemish specialty. It reached<br />
its peak after Pieter Breughel the Elder introduced the new spatial concept<br />
of several planes leading to a distant vista in which the religious theme became<br />
a detail instead of the main, foreground scene. The landscapes produced by<br />
the many Flemish artists working in Italy were enormously popular, and<br />
landscape print series circulated widely (18). The Rome treatise seems to<br />
reflect a Flemish sense of detail concerning landscape elements, an idea supported<br />
by the presence of Flemish painter Michiel Gast's name in a chapter<br />
on how to paint villages in the background. Gast's methods are found to be<br />
exemplary. We know little about Michiel Gast today except that he came to<br />
Rome as a pupil of Lorenzo of Rotterdam and was known for his <strong>paintings</strong><br />
of ruins (19). The citation of Gast's methods and the detailed attention to<br />
landscape elements suggests a strong Flemish influence on the author of Ricordi<br />
di belli colori.<br />
Another remarkable feature of the Rome manuscript are the chapters on<br />
flowers and plants. Although the plants described are quite common in Italy,<br />
the names used are often botanical ones, probably most familiar to a person<br />
with a special botanical interest. In these chapters some personal remarks are<br />
present. For example, the writer says, "I have made a yellow flower in my<br />
book with herbs, the biggest one without landscapes" and "to represent well<br />
the fruit of the Jusaina or otherwise nocella as that is how it is called in the<br />
village of Rocca Contrada." It is striking that all such personal remarks made<br />
by the author are omitted in the landscape section in the Leiden and Yale<br />
manuscripts, while personal remarks are retained in the sections of those<br />
manuscripts containing recipes for pigments and dyestuffs .<br />
A reading of the manuscript suggests that the writer lived in Rocca Contrada,<br />
painted landscapes, came from a Flemish background (or was strongly influenced<br />
by Flemish landscape painting), had botanical interests, and probably<br />
illustrated a herbarium. Knowing this, should we still consider Valerio Mariani<br />
da Pesaro as the writer of the Rome manuscript or should we look elsewhere?<br />
It was in fact the citation of Michie! Gast's name which helped us to answer<br />
this question.<br />
Gherardo Cibo<br />
One of the very few known works by Gast can be found in the collection<br />
of Gherardo Cibo, an Italian nobleman-artist-botanist (1512-1600). Cibo<br />
lived for most of his life in the small village of Rocca Contrada, now called<br />
Arcevio, in the Marche, the region of the Duchy of Urbino. Cibo started an<br />
ecclesiastic career in Rome but he did not pursue it, settling in 1539 in Rocca<br />
Contrada where he occupied himself with artistic and botanical activities.<br />
Although in obscurity until the 1980s, research has revealed that Cibo was<br />
responsible fo r many landscape drawings in major collections that had been<br />
anonymous or wrongly attributed, often to Flemish artists (Fig. 2). A 1989<br />
Hermens 51
Figure 2. Gherardo Cibo, Landscape. Courtesy of the Printrooltl if the University of Leiden, the<br />
Netherlands (il1v. nr. A W 441).<br />
exhibition and catalogue dedicated to Gherardo Cibo shed much light on<br />
the artist's career and personality (20). A large group of landscape drawings,<br />
several herbaria, and illustrated editions of Mattioli's translated version of<br />
Dioscorides can now be attributed to Cibo (Plate 7b, Fig. 3). According to<br />
contemporary testimonies, Cibo must have been an interesting personality<br />
who came from a wealthy family. Praised by the local population for his<br />
virtues and charity work, Cibo occupied himself with botanical expeditions<br />
and painting. A local seventeenth-century historian alludes to Cibo's high<br />
artistic qualities and his method of preparing colors by extracting the dyestuffs<br />
from herbs, fruits, and seeds (21).<br />
Figure 3. Gherardo Cibo, "Hell/ionite, "<br />
from Herbarium (MS ADD 22332),<br />
fol. 143r, ca. 1570. Courtesy of the British<br />
Library.<br />
Could Gherardo Cibo be the writer of Ricordi di belli colori? Proof was to<br />
be found by comparing Cibo's works with the Rome manuscript. In the<br />
manuscript we not only find instructions on the mixtures of colors and the<br />
build-up of transparent washes of paint to achieve certain effects but also<br />
instructions specifically directed toward working on pen drawings or prints<br />
(i.e., Chapter XXIX: "Beautiful green to use on prints and on plants drawn<br />
with pen"; Chapter XXXVI: "To colour herbs, printed or drawn with pen").<br />
Cibo's works show that he did both. Many of his landscape drawings were<br />
executed in pen and ink and then colored with transparently applied colors.<br />
He also colored prints in several editions of Mattioli's translation of Dioscorides<br />
and added landscape backgrounds as a personal touch.<br />
Additional proof can be found in the text. The personal remarks cited above<br />
concerning the chapters on plants point to the herbaria illustrated by Cibo.<br />
Two of these drawings are kept in the British Library (22). The largest herbarium<br />
illustrated contains only plants, drawn in ink and colored with watercolor,<br />
without landscapes in the background: " . .. my largest book on herbs<br />
without landscapes." The other smaller herbarium does have landscapes; on<br />
folio 183v, one reads, "Fusaina salva[ti]ca, nocella qui chiamata a Roccha<br />
C[ontrada]," which corresponds fully with the first lines of Chapter XLV of<br />
the manuscript, in which the instructions on how to paint this flower are<br />
given. The author describes several color mixtures for the Jusaina or nocella<br />
flowers and folio 184v in the herbarium can be fo und many color samples<br />
and some fusaina flowers where these mixtures are apparently tested (Figs. 4,<br />
5).<br />
Finally, examination reveals that the Rome manuscript is written in two<br />
hands. One author wrote only two pages; the script on these pages can be<br />
52<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Figure 4. Gherardo Cibo, "Fusaina [. .. J<br />
nocella qui chiamata a Roccha C [ontrada J, "<br />
Herbarium, (MS ADD 22332), Jo l.<br />
183v. Courtesy of the British Library.<br />
Figure 5. Gherardo Cibo, several proofs oj<br />
colors and "Fusaina" flowers, Jrom Herbarium<br />
(MS ADD 22332), 101. 184v. Courtesy<br />
of the British Library.<br />
identified as Cibo's handwriting. The conclusion must be that Cibo-not<br />
Mariani-was the author of the Rome manuscript.<br />
Gherardo Cibo and Valerio Mariani da Pesaro<br />
Although Gherardo Cibo's part in the origin of the treatise is established, we<br />
may still assume that Valerio Mariani composed the treatise, using Cibo's<br />
specific knowledge and thus incorporating the section on landscape painting.<br />
There is no reason, thus far, not to assume that Mariani wrote the first section<br />
with technical recipes, especially as some personal notes present cannot be<br />
attributed to Cibo, pointing to a professional miniaturist who was working<br />
on a commission basis.<br />
Did Cibo and Mariani meet? Cibo died in 1600 when Mariani was thirty<br />
years old. His name appears in the employee lists for the first time in 1603,<br />
which does not indicate he was not working in Pesaro before that date, as<br />
most of the time the workshop employees are only indicated by their function<br />
(i.e., miniatore) and the duke had started his search for capable miniaturists<br />
in 1581. If they did meet, Cibo must have been in his late seventies or early<br />
eighties but still active, as a letter he wrote to the Duke Francesco Maria II<br />
della Rovere indicates. In the letter, dated 1580, Cibo tells the duke he is<br />
very honored by his request to illustrate an edition of Mattioli's Dioscorides;<br />
Cibo finished the work at nearly seventy years of age (23). This letter, however,<br />
also indicates a clear contact between Cibo and the duke, but there were<br />
apparently more contacts with the Urbino court.<br />
In the Biblioteca Comunale in Jesi (Marche, Italy), an album is kept with<br />
landscape drawings, mainly by Cibo. The text on the cover of the album is<br />
in Cibo's handwriting and says that the album contains "a little landscape on<br />
paper from the hand of the Flemish painter who serves our illustrious Duke<br />
of Urbino, which Sir Cavaliere Ardoino sent me, in April I think. 1591. And<br />
he names himself M[aestro] Giovanne. There are here two drawings of<br />
M[aestro] giovanne fiame[n]go from landscapes on coloured paper ...." It<br />
also mentions drawings of "the Painter from ForB" (24).<br />
Cavaliere (knight) Ardoino can be identified as Girolamo Ardovino (also Ardoino<br />
or Arduini), the duke's architect (25). In many documents, he figures<br />
Hermens 53
as an intermediary between the duke and the workshops. Maestro Giovanne<br />
Fiamengo and the Pittore da ForIi both appear in the many documents concerning<br />
the workshops as being employed by the duke. Cibo was obviously<br />
acquainted with Ardovino and, therefore, must have been familiar with the<br />
workshops and the artists working there. He might have known the young<br />
Mariani if the latter did arrive in Pesaro before 1600. In any case, he probably<br />
knew the miniaturists' workshop.<br />
The connection<br />
As mentioned earlier, the Rome manuscript is written in two hands. The<br />
two pages in Cibo's handwriting comprise two chapters, one chapter on the<br />
mixture for meadows and fields (with two color samples in the margin), and<br />
one chapter with more general instructions on mixtures of colors (see Appendix<br />
doc. 3). At the end of the latter chapter, the following is written: " . ..<br />
such that if you Sir, will try to be a little less lazy and exercise more often,<br />
the exercises will work out very well." This last sentence makes clear that the<br />
manuscript was intended as a manual for someone who wanted to learn, or<br />
was ordered to learn, to paint and draw landscapes like Cibo did, that is, in<br />
the Flemish way. Although the manuscript is part of the Urbinati Latini collection<br />
of the Vatican Library, it seems unlikely that it was written fo r the<br />
duke himself, as the final remark is not very suitable fo r addressing a duke. It<br />
is reasonable to assume, however, that the duke, obviously impressed by Cibo's<br />
artistic capabilities, asked him to write down his techniques for the execution<br />
of landscapes in the Flemish manner in a manual that could be used by the<br />
duke's miniaturists' workshop. The different handwriting, corrections, and<br />
repetitions may indicate that Cibo dictated the text to someone, except for<br />
the chapter in which he addresses the person for whom the manuscript was<br />
meant. This person might have been the young Mariani. If not, then Mariani<br />
found the little book on landscape painting, reworked it, and included it in<br />
his treatise. The pigments and dyestuffs that appear in the landscape sectionsome<br />
of them rather uncommon, such as giallo de' vasari and bruno d'Inghilterra--are<br />
all described in Mariani's recipes (in the first section of the Leiden<br />
and Yale manuscripts) . Cibo really did experiment with extracting colors from<br />
plants and fruits, as well as with mixtures of pigments, as similar proofs of the<br />
color samples described previously can be found throughout all Cibo's works,<br />
even in the margin of the text of the Rome manuscript. These ricordi (reminders)<br />
may have inspired Mariani to describe exactly those pigments and<br />
dyestuffs Cibo used. Interesting is the use of the name giallo de' vasari (potter's<br />
yellow) for lead-antimone yellow. In the Marche, the most important and<br />
famous majolica industry of Italy was flourishing in the sixteenth century.<br />
Cibo presumably obtained this pigment directly from the potters. In the recipe<br />
for bruno de Inghilterra, Mariani says the color was known to spetiali et<br />
pittori (pharmacists and painters) but that so far he had not been able to<br />
discover the exact composition. Most of the other recipes are traditional,<br />
except for those using plants and fruits to extract dyestuffs; the latter recipes<br />
may also come from Cibo. The extra chapters on composition and underdrawing,<br />
although not present in Ricordi di belli colori, seem to reflect Cibo's<br />
techniques when compared with his work.<br />
Although no definite proof can be given, a personal exchange of information<br />
between Mariani and Cibo cannot be excluded.<br />
A comparison between practice and theory is possible, as ample material can<br />
be researched. Not only Mariani's miniatures, especially the signed one, but<br />
also Cibo's many landscape drawings and the herbaria and illustrated Dioscorides<br />
editions, provide this opportunity. It is clear that Mariani used the<br />
same method of building up transparent layers in the background landscape<br />
of his signed miniature as is described in Cibo's instructions (Plate 8). Mariani's<br />
technique, although clearly guided by a personal interpretation, is very<br />
similar to that used in Cibo's landscape drawings executed in ink and colored<br />
with transparent watercolors.<br />
54<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
The treatise is typical for the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century in<br />
describing the techniques for the execution of two extremely important genres<br />
of painting in that period: landscapes and miniature portraits. Both authors<br />
provide us with valuable information on the materials used, the techniques,<br />
and the studio practice, as well as the setting and the possible cooperation<br />
that provided the inspiration to write the treatise.<br />
Appendix<br />
Document 1. List of materials needed by the miniaturist, most described in<br />
the recipes in the first section of the treatise (Leiden, University Library, Voss.<br />
Ger. Gall. Sq. c.2v.):<br />
Biacca, Cinabro, Minio, Biadetto chiaro e scuro, Azurro oltramarino,<br />
Azurro grosso, Giallolino f ino e sottile, Giallo santo, Terra negra, Terra<br />
rossa, Terra gialla, Terra d'ombra, Acqua verde, Tomasole, Terra gialla<br />
brugnata, Lacca di grana, Lacca di verzino, Verde di giglio paonazzo,<br />
Fuligine, Anaraccio, Negro Ju me, Negro d'osso di persico, Terra di campana,<br />
Orpimento, Terra verde 0 verde porro, Verd'azzurro e verdetto,<br />
Indico, ZaJfarano, Verde rame orientale, Bol armenio 0 ocria lemnia, Sandracca,<br />
Bruno d'Inghilterra 0 color di sale, Sangue di drago, Acqua gialla<br />
di spino cavino, Marchesita arsa, Giallo de' vasari, Ocria, Ocria abrugiata,<br />
Acqua di verzino, Carbone, Acqua e aceto gommato e calcinato, Inchiostro,<br />
Liscia, Lapis rosso e negro, Piombino per disegnare.<br />
Document 2. List of materials ordered by the supervisor Felice Antonio di<br />
Letiero for the workshops (Archivio di Stato, Florence, Fondo Urbino, Appendice,<br />
Filza 54, c.n.n.):<br />
A dl 15 9bre 1607. [ ... ] In per ordine di Maestro Felice Antonio di<br />
Letiero a di 24 detto per Ii botteghini di S[ua] A{ltezza]: Libra 2 112<br />
Azurro di Spagna fino [ ... ]; Biadetto libre 4 [ ... ]; Verdetto 3 112 [ ... ]<br />
Giallolino di Fiandra libre 4 1/2 [ ... ]; Verdetto libre 6 112 [ ... ]; Azurro<br />
di Spagna chiaro libre 4 oncie 3 [ . .. ]; Lacca di grana fina libre 2 [ ... ];<br />
Smaltino di Fiandra libre 10 1/2 [ ... ]; Sma/tine diverse con cor po libra 1<br />
oncie 9 [ ... ]; Penelli di sedoli con asta [ ... ]; Penelli grossi di vano [ ... ];<br />
Penelli mezani [ ... ]; Penelli piccoli [ ... ]; Cocciole di madre perla no. l00<br />
[ ... ]; Jacchino per portare detti robbe [ ... ]. A di 14 di Xbre 1607. 10 Felice<br />
Antonio di Lettiero ho ricevuto Ii sopradetti robbe per servitio di botteghini<br />
di Sua Altezza. Umilmente Felice Antonio.<br />
Document 3. Rome, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Urb. Lat. 1280, c.18v-<br />
19r.<br />
Avertimenti sopra Ie mestiche.<br />
Bisogna di avertire che tutte Ie sorte de mach ie, tanto per arbori quanta<br />
per sassi e per greppi et prati, che e necessario di Ja rle piu oscure, 0 piu<br />
chiare secondo la qualita del paese, anchora che tirino piu al verde, 0 piu<br />
al giallo, 0 piu all' azzurro, 0 piu al rossigno, 0 piu al negro secondo che<br />
piu piacera, 0 secondo che ricercara il disegno. La prima coperta non vol<br />
mai essere troppo chiara per potere dar poi i lumi secondo il bisogno, pero<br />
sempre sara bene mesticare con la prima machia quei colori che haveranno<br />
da s f oleggiare, poi illuminarle secondo si conviene e che satiffacci all'occhio<br />
et tanto si havera da Ja re per prati, campi et sassi quanto per Ii arbori.<br />
Non si po Jar questo senza un po' de Ja tica et perdimento de' colori. Pero<br />
chi vorra Ja re che Ie cose passino secondo il dovere, bisognara che componendo<br />
Ie mestiche vadi provando 0 sopra carte, 0 sopra tele, secondo dove<br />
si havera da des igna re, et haver tanto di pazienza che si asciughi et parendole<br />
poi 0 troppo chiara 0 troppo scura, 0 troppo negra, 0 troppo azurra,<br />
o troppo gialla, 0 troppo rossegiante, potra sempre rimediare con giongere<br />
piu di quel colore che sara necessario. Et sempre e bene Jar tanta mesticha<br />
che piu presto possi avanzare che manchare, perche non sola la persona se<br />
ne potra servire ad ogni hora per quel disegno, ma perche mancando havera<br />
grandissima Ja tica de poterla rifare come Jece la prima volta. Questo e piu<br />
Hermens 55
necessario di fa re che di haver 10 esempio delle machie perche si potra fa re<br />
qui una machia che volendola usar simile 0 sara gran fatica farla dello<br />
istesso colore, avera sara 0 troppo chiara 0 troppo scura 0 de altra qualita<br />
che non fara a proposito per il disegno. Si che Vostro Signore se risolvi de'<br />
spigrirsi un poco et de esercitarse pitA spesso et cosi I esercitio passara benissimo.<br />
Acknowledgments<br />
This research has been carried out with the financial support of The Netherlands<br />
Organization fo r Scientific research (NWO). I especially want to thank Tim Bedford<br />
for a critical reading and correction of the manuscript and fo r his encouragement.<br />
Notes<br />
1. From the results of linguistic research of the Leiden and Yale manuscripts, we<br />
may assume that both manuscripts are copies from the same, presumably original,<br />
manuscript. The handwriting as well as the paper quality and watermarks of the<br />
Leiden manuscript seem to point at an early date, possibly early or mid-seventeenth<br />
century. The Yale manuscript contains extra notes, some of them dated<br />
between 1614 and 1628, suggesting the early 1620s as the date of the copy. A<br />
complete edition of the treatise, with technical and art <strong>historical</strong> comments by<br />
the present author, is forthcoming.<br />
2. Thieme, U, and F. Becker. 1930. Algemeines Lexicon der hildende Kunstler von der<br />
Antike his der Gegenwart, XXXI, Leipzig, 64-65. See also Zani, P. 1823. Enciclopedia<br />
metodico-critico-ragionata delle helle arti, part I, Vo!' XIII. Parma, 44, 457, note 28.<br />
3. Lancellotti, S. 1636. L'Hoggid£. Venezia, 310.<br />
4. Zuccolo Padrono, G. M. 1969. Miniature manieristiche nelle comn"lissioni dogali<br />
del 110 cinquecento presso il Museo Correr. Bolletino dei Musei Civici Veneziani<br />
72 (XIV):6, 16, note 6.<br />
5. "II giallo santo e un colore che si cava dal fiore della ginestrella, come m'insegno<br />
un pittore a borgo in Brescia, mentre stava in qual luogo nel servitio del serenissima<br />
memoria del Duca Emanuele Filiberto di Savoia ..." Leiden: University<br />
Library (Voss. Germ. Gall. 5q, fo!' 16r)<br />
6. For the will, see Pesaro, Biblioteca Oliveriana (MS 455), Spogli Almerici, fo!'<br />
338v. For Mariani's debt, see Florence, Archivio di Stato, Fondo Urbino, Classe<br />
III, Filza XXIV, fo!' 242v.<br />
7. Most documents are kept in the Archivio di Stato, Florence and the Biblioteca<br />
Oliveriana in Pesaro. See also Gronau, G. 1935. Documenti Artistici Urhinati. Firenze.<br />
8. Biblioteca Oliveriana, Pesaro (MS Olivo 1009) Cavaliere Domenico Bonamini,<br />
Biografie degli Uomini Illustri Pesaresi. fo!' 290: ". .. l'ultimo Duca Francesco Maria<br />
che avendo prima risecate la grossa spesa del Duca Guidobaldo suo padre col<br />
far cessar tanti arti e celebri manifatte che qui si professavano, che vedendone in<br />
seguito il gravissimo derivo, si ricredette e comando che si esigessero sotto la di<br />
lui corte, varie ollicine, aile quali deputo eccellentissimi maestri in ogni professione<br />
ed arti."<br />
9. These lists can be fo und in the Archivio di Stato, Florence, Fondo Urbino, Classe<br />
III, Filza XXIII (1581-1610 and 1613-1620), Classe I, Div. G., Filza CVI (161 1-<br />
1612).<br />
10. Archivio di Stato, Florence, Fondo Urbino, Classe III, Filza XXIII, fo!' 474r:<br />
"Lista della famiglia e salariati di S.A.S. e provisioni del'anno 1603: Maestro<br />
Propertio Grilli orologgiero, bocche 1; Maestro Cesare Maggiero pittore, bocche<br />
2; Maestro Giovanni Fiamengo, bocche 2; Maestro Simuntio miniatore, bocche<br />
2; Maestro Valerio miniatore, bocche 2; Maestro Nicolo argentiero, bocche 2;<br />
Maestro Boniforte orefici, bocche 2; Maestro Jacopo Cossa lavora d'ebbano, bocche<br />
2; Maestro Gervasio libraro ...." The name of the artist and the number of<br />
people working in the workshop are mentioned: the artist, plus an assistant or<br />
apprentice, equals hocche 2 (two mouths).<br />
11. Archivio di Stato, Florence, Fondo Urbino, Appendice, filza 48, not numbered.<br />
In this document the decoration of some rooms on the first floor of the palace<br />
is described: "Dalla porta che entra nella galleria nuova alia porta che va aile<br />
botteghe ...."<br />
12. Archivio di Stato, Florence, Fondo Urbino, Appendice, Filza 32: fo!' 13r a.f.<br />
13. The letters from Falcucci to the duke concerning the search fo r a miniaturist<br />
can be fo und in the Archivio di Stato, Florence, Fondo Urbino, Classe I, Div. G,<br />
56<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Filza CXLIII, fols. 1122r, 1125v, 1129v, 1133r; and Biblioteca Oliveriana, Pesaro<br />
(MS 375), vol. XXIV, fols. 227v, 212r, 207r, 179r. On the miniaturists, see also<br />
Meloni Trkulja, S. 1981. I miniatori di Francesco Maria II della Rovere. In<br />
Omaggio ai Della Rovere, ed. P Dal Poggetto. Pesaro.<br />
14. Michelini-Tocci, L. 1965. II Dante Urbinate della Biblioteca Vaticana. Facsimile.<br />
Milano.<br />
15. Meloni Trkulja, op. cit. (note 13). From the same author: 1980. Firenze e la<br />
Toscana dei Medici nell'europa del Cinquecento, vol. Palazzo Vecchio: commitenza e<br />
collezionismo medicei, Florence: 200-205. See fo r more information on Mariani<br />
and his miniatures: Hermens, E. 1993. Valerio Mariani da Pesaro: a seventeenthcentury<br />
Italian miniaturist and his treatise. Miniatura (3/4):80-93.<br />
16. See Hermens, E. 1993. Valerio Mariani da Pesaro and his treatise: theory and<br />
practice. Technologia Artis (3):109-12. The infrared research was executed by E.<br />
Buzzegoli and D. Kunzelman, Laboratorio di Restauro, Uffizi, Florence.<br />
17. Lancellotti, op. cit., 310. "Valerio Mariani di Urbino fu suo discepolo e avanzo<br />
il maestro di patienza e delle sue miniature hebbero i maggiori Prencipi del<br />
mondo .... Havevano un degreto di macinar l' oro alia Persiana per miniare e<br />
per iscrivere, che stava saldo come I'antico."<br />
18. Tongiorgi Tomasi, L. 1989. Gherardo Cibo: Visions of landscape and the botanical<br />
sciences in a sixteenth-century artist. Journal oj Carden History 9 (4) :208.<br />
19. Thieme and Becker, op. cit., XIII, 240. See also Bertolotti, A. 1880. Artisti Belgi<br />
ed Olandesi, Roma, 41-4. See also Hoogewerff, G. 1. 1912. Nederlandsche schilders<br />
in Italie in de XIVe eeuw, Utrecht, 142-43.<br />
20. Nesselrath, A., 1989. Gherardo Cibo: "qui non e cognito." In cherardo Cibo alias<br />
"Ulisse Severino da Cingoli, " ed. A. Nesselrath. Comune di San Severino Marche,<br />
5-36.<br />
21. Celani, E. 1902. Sopra un erbario di Gherardo Cibo conservato nella R. Biblioteca<br />
Angelica di Roma. Malphigia XVI:I0.<br />
22. British Library, London, (MS Add 22333 and 22332). See Tongiorgi, op. cit.<br />
23. Cibo's letter can be fo und in the Archivio di Stato, Florence, Fondo Urbino,<br />
Classe I, div.G, Filza CCLX, fol. 6r. For the edition of Diose or ides, see Nesselrath,<br />
op. cit., catalogue no. 20, 100. Roma, Biblioteca Alessandrina (inv. Rari 278).<br />
24. Idem, catalogue no.40: 123-27. Jesi, Biblioteca Communale, Album A: "Qui dentro<br />
sta un paesetto in carta reale, de mano del pittor[e] Fiamengo ch[e] serve il<br />
n[ostro] Duca Sereniss[im]o di Urbino: che mi mano il S[ignor]e Cavalier Ardoino.<br />
Di Aprile mi pare. 1591. E chiamase M Giovanne." He also mentions<br />
drawings "quelli de mano d[e]l pittor[e] da ForE ...."<br />
25. Thieme and Becker, op. cit., II, 78, under the name Girolamo Arduini. See also<br />
Zani op.cit. (note 3), II, 181, 320, note 138. Arduini is said to have written a<br />
treatise titled Trattato del modo di piantare e Jortificare una cittCt.<br />
Hermens 57
Abstract<br />
The problems of interpretation of<br />
written sources on painting technique<br />
are well known. Through loss<br />
of the technical tradition, within<br />
which details of information were<br />
well understood at the time of writing,<br />
technical information is obscured<br />
fo r later generations. In<br />
courses on <strong>historical</strong> techniques of<br />
painting at the School of Conservation<br />
in Copenhagen, attempts at reconstructing<br />
the kind of gesso<br />
ground used in early Italian painting<br />
have prompted investigation into the<br />
actual meaning of the "giesso uolteriano"<br />
mentioned by Cennino Cennini<br />
in his treatise. This paper examines<br />
the problem from three angles:<br />
(1) the possible meanings of Cennini's<br />
text on this point; (2) the preparation<br />
of gesso grounds from the<br />
possible fo rms of gesso resulting<br />
from the first point (dihydrate, hemihydrate,<br />
anhydrite); and (3) technical<br />
evaluation of the reconstructions and<br />
comparison with the results of scientific<br />
examination of grounds in early<br />
Italian painting.<br />
Questions about Medieval Gesso Grounds<br />
Beate Federspiel<br />
Konservators Skolen<br />
Danske Kunst Akademie<br />
Esplanaden 34<br />
1263 Kopenhagen-K<br />
Denmark<br />
Introduction<br />
The problems in interpreting written sources on painting techniques are well<br />
known. Besides the <strong>paintings</strong> themselves, the written sources are the only<br />
testimony of materials and techniques used in former times. Advanced methods<br />
of scientific analysis employed in the examination of <strong>paintings</strong> do not<br />
always answer questions about materials and techniques. And the written<br />
sources do not always provide easy access to painting techniques. Time has<br />
obscured the comprehension of the texts. The pure linguistic translation of a<br />
written source is often far from sufficient, but may be greatly aided by reconstructing<br />
the technical details described and comparing the results of the<br />
scientific analyses.<br />
Understanding Cennini's text<br />
During the courses in <strong>historical</strong> techniques of painting at the School of Conservation<br />
in Copenhagen, it was increasingly dissatisfying for the author and<br />
others to reconstruct the gesso grounds as described by Cennino Cennini,<br />
and it was eventually necessary to scrutinize his text concerning grounds.<br />
Merely reading Cennini's instructions in the English translation by D. V<br />
Thompson in 1933 was not sufficient; it was obvious that things were not as<br />
easy as they may have seemed (1). Not that Cennini is imprecise in his instructions<br />
on this point; he is more thorough in his instructions on ground<br />
than in his description of paint application. But how can certain important<br />
passages be interpreted 600 years later?<br />
The original manuscript by Cennini being lost, the question of which surviving<br />
copy to use as a source remains, of course, a central one. That aspect<br />
will not be addressed in this article; the source used here is Lindberg's Swedish<br />
version of Cennini's Codex Laurentianus. Lindberg's translation shows semantic<br />
details, absent in previous translations, that are important for the understanding<br />
of decisive technical details (2).<br />
In Chapter CXV of his treatise, for example, Cennini describes the preparation<br />
of the ground for painting on panel. Painting in the Middle Ages<br />
included gilding. Gilding was the main reason for the great efforts invested<br />
in creating a perfect ground. Gypsum was the material used in the preparations<br />
of grounds for painting and gilding throughout the whole Mediterranean<br />
area as far back as the first millennium B.C.E. (3). The first written<br />
evidence of a ground for painting made of gypsum appears in the ninthcentury<br />
Lucca manuscript, which mentions a ground consisting of gypsum<br />
and glue for gilding on wood (4) . Cennini clearly distinguishes between gesso<br />
grosso and gesso sotille; that is, a double-structured ground consisting of several<br />
layers of a coarse ground on top of which are applied several layers of a finer<br />
ground. In both structures, the medium is animal glue (5). Such grounds, with<br />
local variations, were found in fourteenth- and fifteenth-century <strong>paintings</strong><br />
from Florence and Siena (6) .<br />
Lindberg's translation, here translated from Swedish into English by the author<br />
(7), differs in several crucial passages from the 1933 English translation by D.<br />
V Thompson. The passage concerned is the following: The Italian text says,<br />
"poi abbi giesso grosso cioe uolteriano che e purghato ede tamigiato amodo<br />
di farina, ..." which Thompson translates as, "then take some gesso grosso,<br />
58<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
that is, plaster of Paris, which has been purified and sifted like flour" (8, 9).<br />
The Swedish translation says: "Tag sedan grovgips, det vill saga Volterra-gips,<br />
som er renad och siktad som mj ol. ..." [Then take coarse gypsum, that is to<br />
say Volterra gypsum that has been purified and sifted like flour. ... J<br />
The question is, apart from the obvious fact that the gypsum mentioned was<br />
mined in the quarries at Volterra, what was then understood by this statement?<br />
Initial attempts by the author at reconstructions were based on<br />
Thompson's translation. The use of his "plaster of Paris," a gypsum burned<br />
to the hemihydrate fo rm, resulted in immediate setting in water (10).<br />
The next chapter, which describes the preparation of the gesso sottile, reveals<br />
details about the gesso volteriano not mentioned in Chapter CXV Chapter<br />
CXVI says, "Ora si uuole chettu abbi dun giesso elquale sichiama giesso<br />
sottile elquale e diques to medesimo giesso mae purghato perbene unmese<br />
tenuto in molle innun mastello rinuoua ogni di laqua chesquasi siinarsiscie<br />
edesciene fuori ogni fo chor di fuocho e uiene morbido chome seta ...." (11).<br />
In Lindberg's translation: "Nu will man att du skall ha en gips som man kallar<br />
fingips, vilken besrar av denna samma gips, men den ar renad i gott och val<br />
en manad, lagd i blot i en balja. Byt varje dag vattnet tills den ar nastan torr,<br />
och varje glad av eld gar ut den, och den blir mj uk som silke ...." [Now<br />
you should have a gesso, which is called fine gesso, which is this same gesso,<br />
but it has been purified for a good month, soaked in a basin. Change the<br />
water every day until it is almost dry, and every glow of fire leaves it, and it<br />
will be soft as silk ....<br />
J<br />
There are two things to be noticed here: Lindberg argues that the remark<br />
about the glow of fire leaving the gypsum-the same gypsum that was used<br />
for the gesso grosso-can only be understood in the sense that the gypsum<br />
was indeed burned. The question is, what form resulted from the process?<br />
The remark about the soaking in water constitutes another important point:<br />
What kind of procedure is meant? The existing translations are not very clear<br />
about this point. It seems quite conceivable that a double purpose-a washing<br />
process and a process of changing the morphology and chemical composition<br />
of the material-was served by this treatment.<br />
The preparation of gesso grounds<br />
The naturally occurring gypsum, calcium sulfate dihydrate CaS04'2H20, can<br />
be burned at various temperatures. Burning at 128 °C produces CaS04'H20,<br />
the hemihydrate form. Burning at 130-160 °c creates an anhydrite and hemihydrate<br />
mixture (12). This is the so-called plaster of Paris or stucco plaster,<br />
which sets quickly with water and thus returns to the dihydrate form. Between<br />
163 °C and 300 DC, soluble anhydrite, CaS04, is formed, which also<br />
reacts quickly with water. According to Mora, et aI., the dihydrate form will,<br />
at temperatures above 250 °C, turn into insoluble anhydrite that is no longer<br />
able to set with water (13). Experiments at the School of Conservation have<br />
shown, however, that anhydrite burned at 300 °C, 400 DC, and even 500 °C<br />
is still able to react with water, forming dihydrate again (Figs. 1 , 2) (14). The<br />
Merck Index even gives 650 °C as the limit above which the insoluble anhydrite<br />
is formed (15). Above 900 DC, the so-called Estrich gypsum (a combination<br />
of anhydrite and calcium oxide) is fo rmed; this material sets very<br />
slowly with water and becomes extremely hard. Gypsum can also occur in<br />
nature as insoluble anhydrite, CaS04.<br />
In Cennini's time, the mined gypsum was burned in rather primitive kilns.<br />
Gettens describes a very ancient kiln with little temperature control, in which<br />
blocks of gypsum are stacked and a fire lighted at the base of the kiln (16).<br />
The result of this process must have been a mixture of anhydrite, hemihydrate,<br />
and even dihydrate forms. Overburned or dead-burned insoluble anhydrite<br />
lumps must have been prevalent at the bottom of the stack near the source<br />
of heat. In the upper tiers, the lumps burned at lower temperatures, hemihydrate/<br />
anhydrite forms must have been present in larger relative amounts.<br />
Federspiel 59
70<br />
60<br />
50<br />
40<br />
a 3500 3000<br />
Transmittance I Wavenumber (cm-1)<br />
2500 2000 1500 1000 500<br />
80<br />
b 3500 3000<br />
Transmittance I Wavenumber (em-1)<br />
2500 2000 1500 1000 500<br />
60<br />
40<br />
2<br />
c 3500<br />
Transmittance I<br />
Wavenumber<br />
II<br />
3000<br />
(em-1)<br />
2500 2000 1500 1000 500<br />
Figure 1. Fourier transform infrared spectra of calcium sulfa te Lilith d!fJerent amounts if crystal water:<br />
(a) anhydrite; (b) hemihydrite, dihydrate baked at 135 °Cfor two hOLm; (c) dihydrite.<br />
It is even possible, as suggested by Gettens and Mrose, that if the lumps were<br />
fairly large, that the outside would have been burned to anhydrite while the<br />
inside would be only partially dehydrated (17). Some of the inside of the<br />
gypsum lumps in the primitive kiln stack could have been heated below 100<br />
°C so that the gypsum remained hydrated. It is interesting to note here that<br />
Theophilus gives the following instructions: " ... take some gypsum burned<br />
in the fashion of lime ...." which must be understood to have been burned<br />
at very high temperatures, that is, above 900 °C (18). The resulting substance<br />
will be quicklime (calcium oxide), which is slaked in water and transformed<br />
into lime (calcium hydroxide).<br />
Gettens describes another kind of kiln that worked in the same way as ancient<br />
bread-baking ovens; after a fire had preheated the inside of the brick oven<br />
until the interior was red hot, the fire was extinguished, the coals removed,<br />
and the bread-or, in this case, lumps of gypsum-were placed in the oven<br />
overnight. This kind of operation allowed for a more uniform heating. This<br />
60<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
100<br />
80<br />
60<br />
40<br />
a 3500 30.00 2500 2000 1500 1000 500<br />
Transmittance J Wavenumber (cm-1)<br />
20<br />
b 3500 3000 2500 2000 1500 1000 500<br />
Transmittance I Wavenumber (cm-1)<br />
70<br />
60<br />
50<br />
20<br />
10<br />
c 3500<br />
Transmittance I<br />
Wavenumber<br />
3000 2500 2000 1500 1000 500<br />
(cm-1)<br />
Figure 2. Fourier traniform irifrared spectra of gypsum bumed at 500 ° C: (a) anhydrite sample before<br />
treatment with water; (b) slurred in water for two days, the sample still consists of anhydrite; (c) slurred<br />
with water for ten days, the sample now consists of dihydrite.<br />
kind of oven had been in use in the Mediterranean civilizations since early<br />
Roman times (19). The painter's manual of Mount Athos actually describes<br />
the baking of gypsum in a similar type of kiln (20). This manual suggests that<br />
the product from the burning process would be soluble anhydrite, which,<br />
soaked in water, would form the dihydrate product again.<br />
In Cennini's directions for the preparation of the gesso sottile, the burnt<br />
gypsum should be soaked in water for about a month. Lindberg states that<br />
Thompson's translation of the word rinuoua as "stir up," referring to stirring<br />
the water every day, is not correct. Thompson may have mistaken the "n"<br />
for "m" (21). Rinuoua literally means renew or change. Lindberg further<br />
argues that siinarsiscie means "to dry," dismissing Thompson's translation of<br />
"rots away" as incorrect. Lindberg offers the following interpretation: the<br />
water should be poured off the soaked gesso every day until the gesso is<br />
almost dry, which simply means that as much water as possible should be<br />
Federspiel 61
poured off each time; such a process is actually a washing process. Watersoluble<br />
impurities, such as salts, possibly present in the gypsum would be<br />
washed away in this process. Such impurities might cause discoloration of the<br />
ground or efflorescence of salts from it. Apart from this, soaking the burned<br />
gypsum in water obviously also had the function of changing the texture and<br />
the chemical composition of the material, supposing the point of departure<br />
is soluble anhydrite.<br />
Technical evaluation and comparison of results<br />
The recent examination of grounds in Italian <strong>paintings</strong> by the Laboratoire<br />
de Recherches des Musees de France elaborates on the double structure of<br />
the Italian gesso grounds (22). This double structure was also shown in the<br />
examinations by the National Gallery's laboratories in London (23). Unfortunately,<br />
this point was not addressed in the otherwise excellent 1954 examination<br />
by Gettens and Mrose, which makes their results of somewhat<br />
limited value in this context.<br />
Concluding from the results of examinations of grounds, the gesso grosso<br />
consists of mainly anhydrite, sometimes with dihydrate present. I am here<br />
referring to the French examination, which even states the ratio of anhydrite<br />
to dihydrate (24). The numerous Florentine and Sienese examples show the<br />
following compositions for the gesso grosso: 100% anhydrite or 75:25 anhydrite:dihydrate<br />
or 50:50 anhydrite:dihydrate. For the gesso sottile, two ratios:<br />
100% dihydrate or dihydrate containing 25% anhydrite.<br />
Considering the chemical changes of soluble anhydrite in contact with water<br />
(the binding medium of the ground is animal glue, which always contains a<br />
certain amount of water), it seems puzzling that the gypsum in the layers of<br />
gesso grosso kept its anhydrous fo rm. A possible explanation could be that<br />
the conversion process became slower as the burning temperature increased<br />
(25). As the anhydrite did not change into dihydrate, the evaporation time of<br />
the water in the binding medium must have been shorter than the hydration<br />
time of the anhydrite. It would be extremely improbable that the gesso grosso<br />
material would be a stable anhydrite, which is not able to react with water,<br />
or a dead-burned anhydrite, which is neither form, because the examples<br />
concerned show the double-structured grounds of gesso grosso and gesso<br />
sottile. It would be very unlikely that two different kinds of gypsum would<br />
be employed in the process. The analyses of the sottile layers show dihydrate,<br />
which is the soluble anhydrite soaked in water. It must be assumed that the<br />
point of departure in both the grosso and the sottile is the same compound:<br />
soluble anhydrite. The presence in the gesso grosso layers of a mixture of<br />
anhydrite and dihydrate would be explained by the sometimes poorly controlled<br />
burning process.<br />
In the samples from Umbria, Latium, the Marches, Venice, and Ferrara showing<br />
single-structured grounds, the dihydrate present (100%) is claimed to be<br />
the natural unburned dihydrate (26). The raw gypsum (calcium sulfate dihydrate)<br />
does not differ either in chemical composition or crystal structure<br />
from a dihydrate that has gone through the process applied to a gesso sottile<br />
of burning and soaking in water (27).<br />
The question remains, is it possible that the dihydrate present in the examples<br />
mentioned above could be the processed dihydrate? The author's reconstructions<br />
indicate that the raw calcium sulfate dihydrate can only with great<br />
difficulty be triturated to a degree that will make it usable as a ground. Even<br />
then, the resulting surface will not facilitate a satisfactory base fo r gilding. It<br />
must be admitted, however, that raw gypsum can vary considerably with<br />
regard to texture (28). Considering this, we can exclude the possibility that<br />
raw gypsum could have been pulverized to yield a satisfactory product. It<br />
seems likely that in most cases the process would be greatly facilitated by first<br />
burning the calcium sulfate to an anhydrite, followed by grinding and processing<br />
with a final soak in water to produce the dihydrate form. This is the<br />
62<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
process described by Cennini for gesso sottile as furnishing the best ground<br />
for gilding (29). In fact, Cennini describes in Chapter CXVIII how certain<br />
panels can be grounded only with gesso sottile.<br />
Conclusion<br />
Finally, returning to the meaning of the giesso volteriano in Cennini's text,<br />
we presume that the material must have been calcium sulfate dihydrate<br />
burned at 300-650 °c, thus forming soluble anhydrite, which was used fo r<br />
the gesso grosso. The preparation of the gesso sottile would be a process of<br />
changing the chemical composition, altering the texture, and washing.<br />
The author does not agree with the point of view put forward by E. Martin,<br />
et al. that Cennini did not know whether the giesso volteriano he discussed<br />
was unburned gypsum directly from the quarries of Volterra or if it was<br />
processed by being burned (30). Cennini must have had a good understanding<br />
of these materials. That we do not understand the exact meaning of his words<br />
600 years later is another matter. In his own time and geographical sphere, it<br />
was most likely very well understood, at least by other craftspersons.<br />
Acknowledgments<br />
It was extremely difficult to obtain raw calcium sulfate dihydrate in Denmark. I am<br />
very much indebted to the following persons who made the practical experiments<br />
possible: V Meyer (Building Materials, Kalkbr;enderihavnsgade 20, 2100 Copenhagen),<br />
who readily took the trouble to import unburned gypsum for my research<br />
purposes, and to Niels Erik Jensen (CTO, Aiborg Portland, 9220 Aiborg 0st), who<br />
demonstrated a keen interest and readiness to help with this project by providing me<br />
with raw gypsum in various forms. I wish to thank my colleague, chemist Mads Chr.<br />
Christensen (School of Conservation, Copenhagen) fo r his help in carrying out the<br />
analyses, and for fruitful discussions. My colleague, geologist Nicoline Kalsbeek,<br />
(School of Conservation), has kindly furnished me with information from the Cambridge<br />
Structural Database. Finally, I wish to thank Professor Bo Ossian Lindberg<br />
(Institutionen fOr Konstvetenskap, University of Lund, Sweden) for reading and commenting<br />
on the text.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Cennini, C. 1960. The Craftsman's Handbook: II libro de/l'arte. Translated by D. V<br />
Thompson, Jr.. New Yo rk, Dover Reprint (Yale University Press, 1933).<br />
2. Cennini, C. Boken om nullarkonsten. Oversiittning och notkommentar av Ossian Lindberg.<br />
Unpublished manuscript provided by Professor Lindberg. Part of the text<br />
has been published in Lindberg, B. 0. 1991. Antologi om milleriteknik. Lund: Institutionen<br />
fo r Konstvetenskap, Lunds Universitet. As shown by Lindberg, the<br />
Codex Laurentianus (Florence, Biblioteca Laurentiana, MS 78 P 23) must be considered<br />
closest to the lost original manuscript. The Codex Riccardianus (Florence,<br />
Biblioteca Riccardiana, MS 2190), however, is our only source for several passages<br />
which are missing in the Laurentianus text. Therefore, Lindberg based his edition<br />
on both the Laurentianus and the Riccardianus codices, as Thompson also did.<br />
For the discussion of the surviving transcripts of Cennini's text and the various<br />
editions and translations, see Lindberg, B. 0. 1991. Cennino Cennini: den obnde<br />
masteren. In Miliningens anatomi. Exhibition catalogue. Kuituren, Lund, 39-48.<br />
3. Oddy, W A. 1981. Gilding through the ages: An outline history of the process<br />
in the Old World. Gold Bulletin and Gold Patent Digest (14): 75-79, in particular<br />
page 77. See also, Gilded wood: conservation and history. 1991. Gilding Conservation<br />
Symposium, Philadelphia Museum oj Art. Madison, Sound View Press, 34.<br />
4. Berger, E. 1973. Quellen und Technik der Fresko-, Oel-und Temperamalerei des Mittelalters.<br />
Liechtenstein Sandig reprint (Munich 1912), 13.<br />
5. The medieval sources mentioning the preparation of grounds also mention (animal)<br />
glue as the medium. The only exception, to my knowledge, is the fifteenthcentury<br />
Bolognese manuscript, which mentions a ground that apparently has no<br />
medium but depends on the setting with water of the hernihydrite. See Merrifield,<br />
M. P 1849. Segreti per colori, Original treatises on the arts oj painting,<br />
Vol. II. London, John Murray, 595.<br />
6. Martin, E., N. Sonoda, and A. R. Duval. 1992. Contribution a l'etude des preparations<br />
blanches des tableaux italiens sur bois. Studies in Conservation (37): 82-<br />
Federspiel 63
92. The fifty <strong>paintings</strong> examined by the authors reveal a clear trend. Paintings<br />
belonging to the Florentine and Sienese schools showed double-structured<br />
grounds of gesso grosso and gesso sottile, identified respectively as anhydrite and<br />
dihydrate. Venetian examples showed a tendency towards single-structured<br />
grounds consisting only of dihydrate, as also observed in Gettens, R. E. and M.<br />
E. Mrose. 1954. Calcium sulphate minerals in the grounds of Italian <strong>paintings</strong>.<br />
Studies in Conservation (1):174-90. See in particular pages 180-83. The recent<br />
French examination finds that the examined <strong>paintings</strong> representing schools outside<br />
Tuscany are not numerous enough in their material to conclude anything<br />
general about the treatment of grounds in the rest of Italy.<br />
7. See note 2.<br />
8. The wording of the Codex Laurentianus is quoted from Lindberg, B. 0. 1990.<br />
Feta och magra limmer enligt Cennino Cennini. In Meddelelser om Konservering,<br />
165-87. Lindberg notes that the Codex Riccardianus in this passage has a slightly<br />
different, but not clearer wording than the Laurentianus. Lindberg points to the<br />
fact that the manuscript lacks interior punctuation.<br />
9. Cennini, 1960. Op. cit., 70.<br />
10. Unfortunately, this suggestion by Thompson, which in the author's opinion is<br />
wrong, is apparently reflected in numerous texts on medieval grounds. See, for<br />
instance, Straub, R. E. 1984. Tafel-und Tiichleinmalerei des Mittelalters. In Reclams<br />
Handbuch der kiinstlerischen Techniken, Vol. I. Stuttgart Philipp Reclam, 156-<br />
57.<br />
11. See note 8.<br />
12. The various sources on gypsum are obviously not identical in their information<br />
on the relationship between the chemical composition of the gypsum and burning<br />
temperatures. Rompps Chemielexicon. 1979. Stuttgart, 575-76. See also, Mora,<br />
L., P. Mora, and P. Philippot. 1984. The Conservation of Wall<strong>paintings</strong>. London,<br />
Butterworth, 39-47. Also see The Merck Index, 9th ed. 1976, 1707.<br />
13. Mora, et aI., op. cit. (note 12), 42.<br />
14. Lindberg, B. 0. , and B. Skans, in their experiments carried out at Institutionen<br />
fo r Konstvetenskap i Lund, have also observed that gypsum burned at 300 °C<br />
fo r two hours is still able to react with water. Lindberg, B. 0. , and B. Skans. 1990.<br />
Feta och magra limmar enligt Cennino. In Meddelelser om konservering, 184.<br />
15. See note 12.<br />
16. Gettens, R. J. 1954. A visit to an ancient gypsum quarry in Tuscany. Studies in<br />
Conservation (1):4, 190-92.<br />
17. Gettens and Mrose, 1954. Op. cit., (note 6), 185.<br />
18. Theophilus on Divers Arts. 1979. Translated by G. Hawthorne and C. S. Smith.<br />
New York, Dover Reprints, 27.<br />
19. A History of Technology, Vol. II. 1957. Oxford, The Clarendon Press, 118.<br />
20. The Painter's Manual of Dionysius of Fourna. 1978. Translated by P. Hetherington.<br />
London, 6. It appears from the directions in the Athos book, that right from the<br />
mining, it is important to choose the right kind of gypsum: " . .. see that you<br />
use only what is white and glistening."<br />
21. Lindberg, 1990. Op. cit. (note 8), 184.<br />
22. See note 6.<br />
23. Bomford, D., J. Dunkerton, D. Gordon, A. Roy, and J. Kirby. 1990. Art in the<br />
Making. London, National Gallery. See in particular pages 17-19.<br />
24. Martin, Sonoda, and Duval, 1992. Op. cit., 86-89, Table 2.<br />
25. It must, of course, be below 650 °C, which is the limit beyond which the anhydrite<br />
is no longer able to react with water.<br />
26. Martin, Sonoda, and Duval, 1992. Op. cit., 90. See also Dunkerton, J., and A.<br />
Roy. 1986. The Technique and Restoration on Cima's The Incredulity if S. Thomas.<br />
National Gallery Technical Bulletin (10) :4-27, especially page 5. See also Dunkerton,<br />
J., A. Roy, and A. Smith, A. 1987. The unmasking of Tura's "allegorical<br />
figure": A painting and its concealed image. National Gallery Technical Bulletin<br />
(11):5-35, especially 19.<br />
27. If a different crystal structure had existed fo r the dihydrate it would most likely<br />
have been included in the CSD (Cambridge Structural Database). This is not<br />
the case.<br />
28. It was quite obvious that not only was the burned gypsum (the anhydrite) much<br />
easier to grind than the raw gypsum, but the anhydrite burned at 700 °C was<br />
much easier to grind than the anhydrite burned at 400 0c.<br />
29. Cennini, 1960. Op. cit., 73.<br />
30. Martin, Sonoda, and Duval, 1992. Op. cit., 90<br />
64<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Abstract<br />
The frequent use of verdigris in<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> from the early Gothic<br />
period to the eighteenth century is<br />
reflected by the citation of the pigment<br />
in treatises. The many warnings<br />
against the use of verdigris and<br />
precautions recommended to prevent<br />
it from discoloring are set against the<br />
fact that verdigris and copper resinate<br />
have survived in many cases as an<br />
intensely green color. It is suggested<br />
that the method of preparation, dissolving<br />
verdigris in warm oil, and its<br />
application with a piece of canvas<br />
contribute to the stability of the<br />
green glaze. Colored underpainting<br />
and yellow glazes on top of the<br />
green layer were used to modify the<br />
green tone.<br />
Aspects of Painting Technique in the Use of Verdigris<br />
and Copper Resinate<br />
Renate Woudhuysen-Keller<br />
Hamilton Kerr Institute<br />
Fitzwilliam Museum<br />
University of Cambridge, Whittlesford<br />
Cambridge CB2 4NE<br />
United Kingdom<br />
Introduction<br />
Verdigris and copper resinate have been fo und in <strong>paintings</strong> dating from medieval<br />
times to well into the eighteenth century. Among the green substances<br />
available for painting, verdigris had the most intense color but little covering<br />
power compared with malachite. Verdigris was made by exposing strips of<br />
copper to vinegar vapor as described by Theophilus at the beginning of the<br />
twelfth century (1). Many later treatises and artists' handbooks contain recipes<br />
on how to make verdigris, how to distill it by dissolving the material in<br />
vinegar and allowing it to recrystallize, and how to turn it into the transparent<br />
green color that today is called copper resinate.<br />
The use of verdigris<br />
Verdigris was used ground in oil, in cherry gum, and also in egg, but it had<br />
a bad reputation for turning brown or black. Cennino Cennini, at the end<br />
of the fourteenth century, wrote that "it is nice to the eye but it does not<br />
last," and in the fifteenth-century Strasburg Manuscript, a note states that<br />
verdigris does not agree with orpiment (2, 3) . Leonardo da Vinci wrote at<br />
the end of the fifteenth century that the beauty of verdigris "vanishes into<br />
thin air if it is not varnished immediately" (4) . The warnings become even<br />
clearer in the Brussels Manuscript, written by Pierre Lebrun in 1635: "Verdigris<br />
is added to charcoal black, or lamp black, to make these colours dry,<br />
but it is used only with the shadows, for it is a poison in painting, and it kills<br />
all the colours with which it is mixed" (5). At the same time, between 1620<br />
and 1640, De Mayerne in London wrote in his notebook (6):<br />
Le verd de gris} which is only used Jo r glazing} is an enemy oj all colours}<br />
so much so} that it kills them all} especially azurite. Even if you work<br />
with a brush that has been cleaned with oil that has come into contact with<br />
verdigris before} as clean as it may seem} or if you put the colours on a<br />
palette on which there has been verdigris before} it spoils everything. In this<br />
way} he who wishes to work with verdigris has to keep brushes} palette<br />
and oil Jor cleaning separate.<br />
In 1757 Pernety wrote disdainfully, "Ver de gris: this is poisonous for all<br />
animals as well as for colours; if one wants to make use of it in oil painting,<br />
one has to use it on its own or at most mixed with black. It ruins all the<br />
colours, and even if there was only a little bit in the grain of the canvas it<br />
would spoil all the colours that were laid on it in the process of painting"<br />
(7).<br />
Chemical analysis, however, has shown that the beautiful greens and green<br />
glazes that have survived in <strong>paintings</strong> are indeed very often verdigris and<br />
copper resinate. Numerous reports published in the National Gallery Technical<br />
Bulletin and in the Bulletin de I } Institut Royal du Patrimoine Artistique bear witness<br />
to this fact. In his investigation of verdigris and copper resinate, Hermann<br />
Kuhn came to the conclusion that "experiments with paint specimens and<br />
observations on <strong>paintings</strong> ... show that the properties of verdigris are not<br />
nearly as harmful as suggested by the literature" (8).<br />
Woudhuysen-Keller 65
Why have some green paint layers of verdigris and copper resinate turned<br />
brown while others remained intact? After a search through the treatises for<br />
instructions on how to use this dangerous green pigment and a comparison<br />
of the written instructions with the actual methods of applying the pigment<br />
on the <strong>paintings</strong>, results seemed to suggest that three interesting factors determine<br />
appearance: (1) verdigris has to be thoroughly embedded in oil or<br />
an oil-resin varnish to be protected from air and humidity; (2) colored underlayers<br />
contribute to the beauty of the green glaze; and (3) admixtures of<br />
yellow lakes or yellow glazes on top of the transparent green layer were<br />
applied to soften the sharpness of the bluish-green tone of verdigris and<br />
copper resinate.<br />
The instructions for the use of verdigris emphasize that it should be thoroughly<br />
incorporated into the medium and covered with varnish as soon as<br />
possible. The early use of verdigris for pictura transludda on gold leaf and tinfoil<br />
described by Theophilus, Cennini, and in the Tegernsee Manuscript (ca.<br />
1500) points to this fact (9, 10, 11). The Strasburg Manuscript simply states<br />
that all colors should be ground in oil. It proceeds to explain how to mix<br />
colors and how to achieve good results by painting in several layers, the<br />
painting technique generally found in fifteenth-century <strong>paintings</strong> (12).<br />
In On the true precepts if the art of painting (1587), Armenini gives very detailed<br />
instructions on painting technique, particularly on how to paint green drapery<br />
(13):<br />
if the drape is to be green, one does as follows: After the sketch is made<br />
using somewhat coarse green, black and white, it is lightly painted with a<br />
mixture if verdigris, a little common varnish, and some giallo santo. With<br />
a coarse brush of miniver, one veils the sketch uniformly; next one pats it<br />
either with the palm if the hand or with a little wad if cotton wool covered<br />
with linen, unta the given colour is uniform and no brush strokes can be<br />
detected. And if the result is not to one's satisfaction, after the veiling is<br />
dry one repaints with the same mixture and then pats in the prescribed<br />
way.<br />
He also explains that before veiling, the thoroughly dried sketch has to be<br />
oiled out very thinly to stop the glaze from being repelled by the underlayer.<br />
A painting by Palmezzano depicting the Mystic Marriage if Saint Catherine,<br />
signed and dated 1537, shows exactly this technique in the green drapery of<br />
the throne and St. Catherine's green garment (Plate 9). The pattern of the<br />
textile used for dabbing on the glaze is clearly visible (Plate 10). The buildup<br />
shown in the cross section also corresponds to Armenini's instructions<br />
(Plate 11); even the oiling-out layer is visible in ultraviolet light (Plate 12).<br />
The glaze was apparently too viscous to be spread out evenly with a brush,<br />
therefore the glaze was spread by dabbing it with a rag. Traces of textile<br />
pattern are also visible in a Flemish altarpiece, painted in Antwerp around<br />
1520, now at Oxburgh Hall in Norfolk. In the process of dabbing on the<br />
green glaze the artist could not always keep within the outline of his green<br />
drapery, so he had to retouch the background in some places. Minor overlaps<br />
were simply left; one can see the weave pattern of the rag, the glaze is partly<br />
discolored and some green particles are still visible.<br />
Experimentation<br />
As an experiment, some neutral recrystallized verdigris was ground in linseed<br />
oil and the mixture was heated very gently to approximately 50 °C, until the<br />
copper acetate had dissolved and the pigment grain had disappeared. The<br />
mixture was intensely green and quite viscous. It could be spread with a<br />
brush while warm, but congealed very quickly, making the brush strokes very<br />
coarse and imprecise. However, it was quite easy to spread the glaze by dabbing<br />
it on with a piece of canvas. After a few hours, the glaze dried. Within<br />
a few days the thick brush strokes of green glaze showed drying wrinkles,<br />
whereas the dabbed area looked the same as when it was applied, demon-<br />
66<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
strating that spreading this glaze thinly in several layers is not merely a matter<br />
of style but also a technical necessity.<br />
The green tablecloth in Jan Davidsz de Heem's Still Life with Fruit (Cambridge,<br />
Fitzwilliam Museum), painted in 1650, consists of a green glaze over<br />
a dark brown underlayer with yellow-green highlights. Clearly this green<br />
glaze has been applied with a brush, as the fairly clumsy brush marks are<br />
visible. Along the contours of the vine leaves and on either side of the thin<br />
stalks of the cherries, the green glaze leaves a gap showing the dark brown<br />
underlayer. It is quite clear that this glaze must have been a rather viscous<br />
liquid and therefore difficult to paint out with any precision.<br />
The recipes for making copper resinate, collected by the doctor Theodore<br />
Turquet de Mayerne in London between 1620 and 1640, are generally considered<br />
to be the earliest. They call for verdigris to be heated with Venetian<br />
turpentine and oil of turpentine as follows: "Beautiful green: take 2 ounces<br />
of Venetian turpentine, 1 112 ounce of oil of turpentine, mix and add 2<br />
ounces of verdigris in little pieces. Set it on hot ashes and let it boil gently.<br />
Try it on some glass to see if you like the colour; strain it through a cloth"<br />
(14) .<br />
Trying out the recipe, it was found that the verdigris did not dissolve in the<br />
mixture of Venetian turpentine and oil of turpentine because there was not<br />
enough resin present; also, the presence of oil of turpentine hampered the<br />
reaction of the copper acetate with the Venetian turpentine. When more resin<br />
in the fo rm of rosin was added, a dark green resinous substance resulted,<br />
which was liquid while hot, but hard and glassy as it cooled. This green glassy<br />
substance can be ground in oil like a pigment. When ground in oil, however,<br />
the color is no longer very intense.<br />
Another recipe in the De Mayerne manuscript asks for verdigris, ground in<br />
oil, to which hot common varnish is added: "Painters, i.e. those who paint<br />
as well as those who paint furniture and blinds, grind verdigris with linseed<br />
oil and then add common varnish, stirring it well. They allow the impurities<br />
to sink down and only use the clear liquid, which they apply warm" (15).<br />
With the term "common varnish" a solution of resins in oil is meant. This<br />
recipe was the base for the experiment described above, grinding verdigris<br />
in oil and heating it.<br />
The preparation and application of the green glaze is not the only secret of<br />
de Heem's tablecloth: the dark reddish-brown undermodeling gives the green<br />
glaze its velvety depth. This observation proved to be very useful during<br />
retouching. The only way to match this intense dark green color was to<br />
reconstruct the build-up of layers exactly. The verdigris in the green glaze<br />
was substituted with the transparent green pigment viridian (because of its<br />
stability) and a little synthetic Indian yellow to match the required tone.<br />
The reason a green glaze over a reddish-brown underlayer appears so very<br />
dark lies in the absorption of the waves of the spectrum: green absorbs all<br />
red waves, red absorbs all green waves. The two layers superimposed absorb<br />
practically the entire spectrum of visible light, so that the resulting color is<br />
almost black.<br />
The painter's use of green glazes and grisaille<br />
The green curtain in Titian's Tarquin and Lucretia (Fitzwilliam Museum)<br />
shows green glazes over an undermodeling in red with broad white highlights.<br />
The idea is ingenious. To start with, Titian underpainted the curtain in gray<br />
with some azurite, then he laid in the modeling with a brownish red containing<br />
some red lake and some very generous white highlights. As he applied<br />
the green glaze, the shadows in the folds appeared very dark green, the middle<br />
tones were light green because of the green glaze over white brush strokes,<br />
and the flickering highlights remained white from the undermodeling, partly<br />
emphasized with an extra brush stroke. In some places, Titian allowed the<br />
red to shine through, giving the material a wonderful shot-silk effect.<br />
Woudhuysen-Keller 67
In late Gothic painting, grisaille underpainting was fairly common for green<br />
garments or landscape elements. This was found in <strong>paintings</strong> by van Eyck as<br />
well as by Uccello, north of the Alps as well as in Italy (16, 17). The method<br />
is described in artists' treatises. Palomino, in the first quarter of the eighteenth<br />
century, describes the method of underpainting green cloths with grisaille<br />
(18). The same instructions are found in Croeker's treatise, published in 1743<br />
(19). This documents a long tradition. Grisaille undermodeling was not the<br />
only method recommended. In his Portrait if a Dominican Monk (Upton House<br />
near Banbury), painted around 1525, Lorenzo Lotto used undermodeling in<br />
azurite and lead white with the darkest shadows painted in an olive green<br />
mixture of black and lead-tin yellow. The next layer contains verdigris with<br />
very little lead-tin yellow and some black in the shadows, fo llowed by a green<br />
glaze. This green glaze is a substantial, absolutely homogenous layer, without<br />
any visible brushwork or textile pattern.<br />
In addition to colored undermodeling to modifY the green glaze, there is the<br />
possibility of adjusting the green color by means of yellow glazes. Cennini<br />
recommended saffron for this purpose (20). Leonardo suggested aloe dissolved<br />
in warm spirit of wine: "If you have finished a painting with this simple<br />
green [verdigris in oil] and if then you were to glaze it lightly with this aloe<br />
dissolved in spirit of wine, then it would be of a most beautiful colour. Also<br />
this aloe can be ground in oil, either on its own or together with the copper<br />
green and with any other colour you like" (21).<br />
De Mayerne noted a recipe fo r a green copper glaze that called fo r some<br />
terra merita, which is curcuma, to be added to improve the color (22). Goetghebeur<br />
and Kockaert drew attention to the existence of yellow and brown<br />
glazes on top of layers of verdigris or copper resinate (23). In cleaning green<br />
areas in <strong>paintings</strong>, therefore, it is not sufficient to test a brown layer for copper<br />
to find out whether the paint is discolored copper resinate. Even if it is<br />
not, it can still be an original yellow lake, now discolored. As these organic<br />
lakes are very difficult to identifY, their presence is often suspected without<br />
reassuring proof either way, a most disconcerting situation fo r the restorer. In<br />
addition to research by means of scientific analysis, it might be helpful to<br />
approach the problem via the written sources and by reconstructing some of<br />
the recipes.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Hawthorne, J. G. and C. S. Smith. 1979. Theophilus on Divers Arts. New York:<br />
Dover Publications, 41. See also Scholtka, A. 1992. Theophilus Presbyter: Die maltechnischen<br />
Anweisungen und ihre Gegenuberstellung wit naturwissenscha J tlichen Untersuchungsbifunden.<br />
Zeitschrift jur Kunsttechnologie und Konservierung 6 (1):1-54.<br />
2. Cennini, C. 1960. The Crcifisman's Handbook. Translated by D. V. Thompson. New<br />
York: Dover Publications, 33.<br />
3. Borradaile, V. and R. Borradaile. n.d. The Strasburg manuscript: a medieval painters'<br />
handbook. Munchen: Callwey, 55-7. Passage translated by the author.<br />
4. Ludwig, H. 1882. Lionardo da Vinci. Das such von der Malerei. Nach den Codes<br />
Vaticanus (Urbinas) 1270. Wien: Braumiiller (Quellenschriften fLir Kunstgeschichte<br />
und Kunsttechnik des Mittelalters und der Renaissance), 15:244. Passage<br />
translated by the author.<br />
5. Merrifield, M. P. 1967. Original Treatises on the Arts if Painting, Vol. 2. New York:<br />
Dover Publications (2):822.<br />
6. van de Graaf,J. A. 1958. Het De Mayeme Manuscript als bron voor de schildertechniek<br />
van de barak. British Museum, Sloane 2052. Proefschrift ... Mijdrecht: Drukkerij<br />
Verweij, 142. Passage translated by the author.<br />
7. Pernety, A. J. 1972. Dictionnaire portatif de peinture, sculpture et gravure. Geneva:<br />
Minkoff Reprint, 547. Passage translated by the author.<br />
8. Kuhn, H. 1993. Verdigris and copper resinate. In Artists' Pigments. Ed. A. Roy.<br />
Washington: National Gallery of Art, 136. For preparation and identification of<br />
green copper pigments, see Ellwanger-Eckel, E 1979. Herstellung und Verwendung<br />
kunstlicher gruner und blauer Kupjerpigmente in der Malerei. Stuttgart: Institut fu r<br />
Museumskunde an der Staatlichen Akademie der Bildenden Kunste.<br />
9. Hawthorne and Smith, op. cit., 33.<br />
68<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
10. Thompson, op. cit., 61.<br />
11. Berger, E. 1975. Quellen und Technik der Fresco-, Oel-und Tempera-Malerei des Mittelalters<br />
. . . Walluf-Nendeln: Sandig Reprint, 195.<br />
12. Borradaile, op. cit., 55-7.<br />
13. Armenini, G. B. 1977. On the true precepts of the art of painting. Edited and translated<br />
by E. J. Olszewski. Burt Franklin, 194.<br />
14. van de Graaf, op. cit., 174. Passage translated by the author.<br />
15. van de Graaf, op. cit., 164. Passage translated by the author.<br />
16. Brinkmann, P W F., et al. 1984. Het Lam Godsretabel van van Eyck . .. Bulletin<br />
de l'Institut Royal du Patrimoine Artistique (20):164.<br />
17. Massing, A. and N. Christie. 1988. The Hunt in the Forest by Paolo Uccello. Bulletin<br />
of the Hamilton Kerr Institute (1):36.<br />
18. Veliz, Z. 1986. Artists' Techniques in Colden Age of Spain. Cambridge: Cambridge<br />
University Press, 168-69.<br />
19. Croeker, J. M. 1982. Der wohl anfuhrende Mahler. Rottenburg: Kremer-Reprint,<br />
110.<br />
20. Thompson, op. cit., 29-30.<br />
21. Ludwig, op. cit., 244-7. Passage translated by the author. See also Chastel, A. n.d.<br />
Leonardo da Vinci. Samtliche Cemalde und die Schriften zur Malerei. [Darmstadt] :<br />
Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 351-52.<br />
22. van de Graaf, op. cit., 174.<br />
23. Goetghebeur, N., and L. Kockaert. 1980. Le grand Calvaire d'Albert Bouts au<br />
M usee des Beaux-Arts de Bruxelles. Bulletin de l'Institut Royal du Patrimoine Artistique<br />
(18):5-20.<br />
Woudhuysen-Keller 69
Abstract<br />
The discovery of three "new" pigments<br />
is described. Their history is<br />
traced through the literature of pigments,<br />
ceramics, and glass. Tin white,<br />
previously undiscovered, is followed<br />
from Iraqi ceramics to its occurrence<br />
as a pigment on Jain miniatures in<br />
India. Burnt green earth, mentioned<br />
by early Italian and nineteenth-century<br />
English writers, is identified on<br />
nineteenth-century oil <strong>paintings</strong>.<br />
Cobalt oxide colorant is followed<br />
from Persia to Europe and China<br />
and finally, in a new fo rm, to Venetian<br />
enamels and as smalt on Hindu<br />
miniatures.<br />
Connections and Coincidences: Three Pigments<br />
Josephine A. Darrah<br />
Science Group<br />
Conservation Department<br />
Victoria & Albert Museum<br />
London SW7 2RL<br />
United Kingdom<br />
Introduction<br />
There are certain advantages in being a generalist rather than a specialist. In<br />
this paper, the author hopes to show some of the connections and coincidences<br />
that occur when a wide range of materials and objects are analyzed<br />
in the same laboratory.<br />
Tin white<br />
The pigment known as tin white is elusive. It is mentioned occasionally in<br />
medieval and later European literature, but has never been identified on paintmgs.<br />
Tin oxide was used first as an opacifier in ceramic glazes to reproduce Chinese<br />
porcelains in ninth-century Iraq. From there it spread throughout the<br />
Near East (by the tenth century) and to Spain (by the thirteenth century) via<br />
North Africa (1). By the twelfth century it was being used to opacifY glass.<br />
It has been identified in twelfth-century Byzantine colored mosaic tesserae<br />
in Tchernigov, Ukraine (2). In 1612, in the first book devoted to glassmaking,<br />
Neri describes the preparation of enamel by adding calcined tin to calcined<br />
lead (3). The earliest dated European tin white glass is late fifteenth-century<br />
Venetian (4). White glass and enamel of the succeeding centuries is almost<br />
always opacified with tin (5).<br />
Writing in the late thirteenth century, Eraclius gives two very similar recipes<br />
for white glaze used for earthenware (6) . White glass was ground very finely,<br />
mixed with sulfur, painted onto the ceramic and fired. Tin is not mentioned<br />
but must have been the opacifier. The purpose of the sulfur is not known. It<br />
would not have survived the firing.<br />
The Paduan manuscript written in Venice in the seventeenth century (but<br />
copying sixteenth-century material), has another similar recipe, but here it is<br />
for a pigment: "Un bianco bellissmo-Si piglia cristallo di Venetia ..." [take<br />
some powdered Venice glass, add to it a third part of powdered sulfur] (7).<br />
The mixture was heated to red heat in a pipkin, cooled, and ground. Merrifield<br />
suggests that it was used for painting miniatures (8).<br />
Harley quotes an English source (ca. 1500): "For to make Ceruse. Take plates<br />
of tinne and beate them as thinne as thowe maist ..." (9). The tin was hung<br />
in a sealed barrel with vinegar for several weeks. The method is exactly the<br />
same as that used to produce lead or flake white. Indeed, the name ceruse<br />
was applied in England to both tin and lead white, and perhaps more correctly<br />
to a mixture of lead white and chalk.<br />
Harley says that documentary sources indicate that tin white was used in<br />
manuscripts. Her suggestion that it became obsolete because manuscript illumination<br />
declined cannot be substantiated, as the pigment has not been<br />
identified in any English or European miniatures. In the seventeenth century,<br />
Van Dyck tried it in oil and reported that it had insufficient body and was<br />
only useful for manuscript illumination (10). My tens fo und that it blackened<br />
in sunlight, spoiled white lead if the two were mixed, was useless in oil, and<br />
also in distemper if exposed to air (11). In the late eighteenth century, France<br />
Guyton de Morveau experimented with pigments and reported that tin white<br />
was unsuitable as it tended to yellow or blue (12).<br />
70<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Tingry, in 1830, gives a recipe for "Another Cremnitz White," which he<br />
describes as a beautiful pearly white, too expensive for house painting, but<br />
"it would, no doubt, be attended with great advantage in painting pictures"<br />
(13). This white was a mixture of tin white, one-fourth part zinc white and<br />
one-eighth part white clay separated from Briancon white.<br />
Linton describes tin white (oxide of tin) as, "too feeble in body ... to be of<br />
any service to the oil painter . .. " (14). He does, however, add that it may be<br />
unaffected by "injurious gases." Field also thinks the pigment to be poor,<br />
writing that it "dries badly and has almost no body in oil or in water, it is<br />
the basis of the best white in enamel painting" (15). In 1951, Mayer merely<br />
states that it is not a paint pigment at all (16).<br />
Figure 1. Tin white pigment, details on a<br />
sixteenth-century Jain miniature. Photograph<br />
by Paul Robins (Photo Studio), courtesy of<br />
the Victoria & Albert Museum (I. S.84-<br />
1963 1 15).<br />
Tin white, therefore, has two main uses: as an opacifier in glass, enamel, and<br />
ceramic glazes from the ninth to twentieth centuries; and as a possible pigment<br />
in manuscripts and miniatures from the fifteenth to seventeenth centuries.<br />
Even in the short review given here, three quite different recipes for<br />
its preparation are given from the following eras: (1) circa 1500, England, tin<br />
oxide; (2) circa 1580, Italy, white glass powder opacified with tin oxide; and<br />
(3) circa 1800, England, a mixture of tin oxide, zinc oxide, and white clay.<br />
During a research program in the laboratory of the Victoria & Albert Museum,<br />
methods for nondestructive identification of the pigments on Indian<br />
miniatures were studied (17). Incident light microscopy, energy-dispersive x<br />
ray fluorescence (EDXRF) spectroscopy, and ultraviolet and infrared color<br />
reversal photography were used.<br />
Several Jain miniatures were examined; these small, jewel-like, utterly distinctive<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> from Western India were of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.<br />
The areas of white paint were frequently restricted to details of textiles<br />
and jewelry (Figs. 1 , 2). Two of the miniatures had tin present as the major<br />
constituent in areas of white pigment. Because red lake and, in one case, gold<br />
leaf were beneath the white, this was regarded as interesting but not conclusive<br />
of tin white being present.<br />
Tin was then fo und on a third Jain miniature, possibly dating from the fifteenth<br />
century, with carbon black and verdigris in the same area. Three more<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> were chosen from the same manuscript as one of those examined<br />
earlier, as it was possible to focus on areas with no other pigment or only<br />
gold leaf. In all three, tin was the major constituent (Fig. 3) . It is possible,<br />
Figure 2. Tin white pigment, details on a<br />
sixteenth-century Jain miniature. Photograph<br />
by Paul Robins (Photo Studio), courtesy of<br />
the Victoria & Albert Museum (I. S. 46-<br />
19591 26).<br />
500<br />
450<br />
400<br />
350<br />
Sn<br />
300<br />
250<br />
200<br />
Sn<br />
Sn<br />
Au<br />
Au<br />
150<br />
Sn<br />
100<br />
50<br />
Au<br />
5<br />
10<br />
15<br />
20<br />
KeV<br />
25<br />
30<br />
35<br />
40<br />
Figure 3. EDXRF spectrum of tin white pigment on a sixteenth-century Jain miniature. Spectrum<br />
prepared by David Ford, Science Group, Victoria & Albert Museum (1. 5.46-19591 49).<br />
Darrah 71
therefore, to say that the pigment is a tin white (Table 1). A mixed tin-lead<br />
white was identified on a seventeenth-century Hindu miniature; much overpainting<br />
with zinc white confused the picture.<br />
It has not been possible to determine the constitution of the Indian tin white;<br />
the size and delicacy of the miniatures prohibits the removal of a sample. The<br />
pigment is a clean, brilliant white and appears reasonably opaque. It is probably<br />
tin oxide.<br />
Although the date of these miniatures falls into the same period in which<br />
the pigment is said to have been used in Europe, it seems unlikely that the<br />
Jain school was using the Western pigment. It is probable, however, that it<br />
developed from the use of tin oxide in ceramics, ultimately deriving, as it did<br />
in Europe, from the Near East or neighboring Persia.<br />
Burnt green earth<br />
Table 1. White pigments on jifleenth- to<br />
eighteenth-century Jain miniatures.<br />
Accession No. Da" Pigments<br />
IS 2-1972 c. 1460 Kaolin, mica<br />
Isacco 1<br />
15C Calcium white<br />
Isacco 2 15C Tin while<br />
IS 46-1959 f26 16C Tin white<br />
IS 46-1959 f45 16C Tin white<br />
IS 46- 1959 f47 16C Tin white<br />
IS 46-1959 f49 16C Tin white<br />
IS 84-1963 fl5 16C Tin white<br />
IS 82·1963 16C Hindu Calcium white, mica<br />
Private owner 17C Hindu Tin - lead white<br />
IS 2-1984 18C Lead white<br />
Green earth in its various fo rms has been used as a pigment through much<br />
of Eurasia fo r 2,000 years. Vitruvius wrote of it in the first century B.C.E.<br />
Burnt green earth seems to be mentioned first in the sixteenth or seventeenth<br />
centuries. The Paduan manuscript lists it as a color for miniature painting and<br />
also records that "the shadows of the flesh are made with terra 'ombra, terra<br />
verde burnt, and asphaltum" (18). The Volpato manuscript gives the method<br />
of preparation (19). Merrifield quotes Lomazzo, who directs that shadows on<br />
flesh should be made with burnt terra verde and nero di campana or umber<br />
(20). She says that "modern writers do not mention this colour, but the use<br />
of it has been revived by an eminent English artist, under the name of 'Verona<br />
Brown' "(21).<br />
Linton mentions it briefly with terre verte: "When calcined, it forms another<br />
beautiful pigment called Verona Brown" (22).<br />
To ch says Verona brown is a "fancy name" fo r a mixture of burnt umber and<br />
burnt or raw sienna (23). At the time of the Constable and Turner research<br />
projects in England, the author examined two paint boxes of the relevant<br />
period in the Victoria & Albert Museum collections. One was said to have<br />
Figure 4. Paint box, said to have belonged to William Turner, with bladders of oil paint, including<br />
Gebr. Terra di Verte and Gebr. Griine Erde. W. 65- 1920. Courtesy of the Victoria & Albert MuseU/t!.<br />
72<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
elonged to William Mallord Turner (Fig. 4) . It contained seventeen bladders<br />
of solidified oil paint, all of which had been opened and sealed with a tack.<br />
Each was labeled in German or English. Two were named as Gebr. Terra di<br />
Verte and Gebr. Grune Erde, the term "Gebr." coming from the German<br />
gebrannte for burnt or roasted (24).<br />
EDXRF analysis of the paint on the surface of the bladders showed iron to<br />
be the major constituent with traces of manganese and titanium. The Terra<br />
di Verte contained a trace of calcium, the Griine Erde considerably more<br />
with traces of potassium, rubidium, and strontium (frequently present in calcium<br />
deposits). Green earth is a complex silicate colored by iron with a<br />
structure similar to mica (25).<br />
Dispersions of the two paints were made. The Gebr. Terra di Verte was a<br />
rich orange-brown comparable to burnt sienna but more translucent. The<br />
Gebr. Griine Erde was similar to raw sienna, but of a greener tone. This must<br />
have been burned at a lower temperature, as a few green particles remained.<br />
Under the microscope, the pigments were identical to green earth, with the<br />
overlapping plates of the crystals visible on the larger particles. Calcite was<br />
seen in both, but the Gebr. Griine Erde had, as indicated by EDXRF, a higher<br />
proportion of it. The labels suggest that both bladders were prepared in Germany,<br />
perhaps from two different sources of green earth.<br />
The appearance of the samples brought to mind the unidentified brown pigment<br />
seen by the author in several nineteenth-century landscape <strong>paintings</strong>,<br />
usually mixed with Prussian blue, ochres, and so forth, to produce greens and<br />
browns. It was suggested that it was the brown seen in the cross sections from<br />
a painting by Constable then being examined. SEM-EDX analysis of the latter<br />
at the National Gallery laboratory produced a spectrum identical to that for<br />
green earth. It was later identified in several Constable <strong>paintings</strong> dating from<br />
1811 to 1829 mixed in greens and browns (26, 27). Could Merrifield's "eminent<br />
English artist" be John Constable?<br />
The author has tentatively identified burnt green earth in <strong>paintings</strong> by Peter<br />
de Wint and J. F. Millet (28).<br />
Green earth was rarely used in England. The author has seen it only in<br />
seventeenth- and eighteenth-century wall <strong>paintings</strong> (oil) and cartoons by Verrio,<br />
Laguerre, Thornhill, and Robert Adam, all of whom trained in Italy or<br />
France. Verona brown seems to have been adopted in the early nineteenth<br />
century as a translucent addition to the earth and organic browns then available.<br />
Verona was a source of one of the better green earths, but was abandoned<br />
earlier this century (29).<br />
By coincidence, Constable Project researcher Sarah Cove visited Brussels and<br />
brought the author a bottle of pigment, Griine Erde Gebr., from an artists'<br />
suppliers. This modern sample is a darker, duller brown; perhaps burned at a<br />
higher temperature than the earlier examples, it too contains calcite.<br />
Brown pigments tend to be neglected, partly, no doubt, because of the difficulty<br />
in distinguishing the multitude of ochres, organic earths, and lakes.<br />
Burnt terra verte has a quite distinctive appearance, is easily identifiable by<br />
EDX, and may be more common than previously thought.<br />
Smalt<br />
The earliest blue glass colored with cobalt is from Eridu, Mesopotamia, circa<br />
2000 B.C.E. Recipes survive from Ashurbanipal's library in Nineveh, circa<br />
650 B.C.E. The Indians adopted Sumerian technology and were making cobalt<br />
blue glass by the sixth century B.C.E. (30). The Egyptians were using<br />
cobalt by circa 1400 B.C.E. The Romans were familiar with it; it was common<br />
in Western Europe in the seventh century and occurs in the Sassanian and<br />
Islamic periods (31).<br />
The first appearance of smalt is in a wall painting (ca. 1000-1200 C.E.) in<br />
Khara Khoto, Central Asia, and in the Church of Our Saviour of the Mon-<br />
Darrah<br />
73
Table 2. Unusual occurrences and constituents of smalt and blue enamel.<br />
Source Accession Blue pigment Date<br />
Number<br />
or enamel<br />
Minor<br />
EDXRF Analysis<br />
Trace<br />
BasohJi miniature 1.5.50-1953 smalt 1660-70<br />
1.5.51-1953 small 1660-70<br />
I.M.87-1930 small 1730-35<br />
I.M.88-1930 smalt 1730-35<br />
Bundi miniature 0.379-1889 small c.I770<br />
Venetian jug 273-1874 enamel 1472-1525<br />
tazza 5496-1859 enamel late 15th C.<br />
bowl C.170-1936 enamel 1521-23<br />
bowl C. I60-1936 enamel early 16th C.<br />
bowl 5489-1859 enamel 1500-1600<br />
S. German oil painting C.I.A. No 3021 small 15th - 16th C.<br />
Pb'<br />
As Ph·<br />
As<br />
As<br />
Pb'<br />
As<br />
As<br />
As<br />
As<br />
As<br />
KCa Fe Co Ni Cu As<br />
KCa Mn Fe Co Ni Cu Zn Bi<br />
KCa Fe Co Ni Ph Bi<br />
KCa Fe Co Ni Zn Pb Bi<br />
KCa Ti Fe Co Ni Cu As<br />
KCa Mn Fe Co Ni Cu Zn Pb Bi Sr Sn<br />
KCa Mn Fe Co Ni (Au) Ph Bi Sr<br />
KCa Ti Mn Fe Co Ni Cu Ph Bi Sr<br />
KCa Mn Fe Co Ni Cu Zn Ph As Bi Sr (So Sb)t<br />
KCa Mn Fe Co Ni Cu (Au) Ph Bi Sr Sn Sb<br />
Si K Fe Co Ni Pb. Bi<br />
• lead from lead white pigment<br />
t tin and antimony from yellow enamel applied over blue<br />
* Courtauld Institute of Art, SEM-EDX analysis<br />
astery of Chora (Kariye Camii), Constantinople (1325-1453 C.E.) (32, 33). It<br />
is likely that the smalt derived from Middle Eastern and Near Eastern blue<br />
glass.<br />
The earliest known source of cobalt ore is Khashan, Persia; the Mesopotamians<br />
and Egyptians probably obtained it from there. This suggests that the<br />
ore's coloring properties were already known to the Persians. Medieval European<br />
glass was tinted with Damascus pigment or zaffre, the Arabic name<br />
for cobalt oxide, again suggesting a Near Eastern source (34).<br />
Cobalt oxide, known as sulimani, was imported into China from Persia in the<br />
Tang period; by the fourteenth century it was transported by sea from the<br />
Persian Gulf via Sumatra. Muslim merchants residing in China influenced<br />
ceramic designs; much of the blue and white ware was produced fo r the<br />
Islamic market (35).<br />
Cobalt blue glass and glaze was known from China to Western Europe and<br />
yet throughout this period (3000 B.C.E. to ca. 700 C.E.) the most important<br />
blue pigment was Egyptian blue, a fr it colored with copper, at its best rivaling<br />
azurite but often appearing in paler turquoise shades. The terminal date is<br />
circa 850 C.E. on a fresco in the church of San Clemente in Rome (36). It<br />
seems unlikely that the secret of making Egyptian blue was lost to the<br />
Romans during the turmoil of the Teutonic invasions, as glass and enamel<br />
colored with copper continued to be made both in Italy and many other<br />
countries.<br />
In Europe there is an inexplicable hiatus in the use of blue pigments deriving<br />
from glass from about 850 to 1490 C.E. The Venetians were making cobalt<br />
glass by the mid-fifteenth century; the earliest references to smalt are by Leonardo<br />
da Vinci and Perugino in the 1490s (37). It has been identified on<br />
an altarpiece (1493) by Michael Pacher (38). Cobalt was discovered in Saxony<br />
in the mid-fifteenth century and fully exploited by around 1520. This may<br />
explain the greater utilization of smalt in the sixteenth century (39, 40).<br />
Cobalt ores combine iron with nickel and/or arsenic, the latter volatilized in<br />
the smelting process. Cobalt was also obtained from the residue in the separation<br />
of bismuth (41). The metal oxides were fused with sand and potash<br />
to produce zaffre (the Arabic name still being used) and sold to glassmakers.<br />
During research on Indian miniatures, the author found smalt on one Bundi<br />
example (ca. 1770 C.E., central India, Hindu). The pigment, not previously<br />
identified on Indian <strong>paintings</strong>, contained cobalt, iron, nickel, and a little arsenic<br />
(Table 2) (Plate 13).<br />
In a later project examining miniatures from the northern Hindu states, smalt<br />
was fo und on four miniatures from Basohli, a tiny state in the Himalayan<br />
foothills north of Lahore (42, 43). In one example (1660-1670 C.E.), smalt<br />
was used to paint areas of the sky and Krishna's skin; the pigment contained<br />
74<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
500<br />
450<br />
As<br />
Ph<br />
As<br />
400<br />
350<br />
Fe<br />
Co<br />
300<br />
Ni<br />
250<br />
200<br />
150<br />
Bi<br />
Ph<br />
Bi<br />
100<br />
50<br />
0<br />
0 2 4<br />
6<br />
8<br />
10<br />
12<br />
14 16 18 20<br />
KeV<br />
Figure 5. EDXRF spectrum of smalt with a high arsenic content and traces if bismuth and lead.<br />
Krishna and Girls, 1730-1735, Basohli. Spectrum prepared by David Ford, Science Group, Victoria<br />
& Albert Museum (I.M.87-1930).<br />
cobalt, iron, nickel, and a trace of arsenic. On another of the same date and<br />
on two later miniatures (1730-1735 C.E.), a very different type of smalt was<br />
fo und in the sky and Krishna's skin (Plate 14). EDXRF spectra showed a<br />
high arsenic content with iron, cobalt, nickel, bismuth, and lead (Fig. 5). No<br />
orpiment (arsenic) was present on these <strong>paintings</strong>.<br />
By coincidence, the author had been analyzing a number of enameled Venetian<br />
glass vessels (44). Blue enamel, opacified with tin oxide, occurs on<br />
many of these objects. In a group of five, all late-fifteenth to early-sixteenth<br />
century, the blue enamel appeared to be opacified with arsenic; bismuth and<br />
lead were also present (Fig. 6) . Lead oxyarsenate, 3Pb3(As04)2'PbO, is said to<br />
have first been used as an opacifier in European heavy lead glass in the eighteenth<br />
century (45). Neither the Venetian enamel nor the Basohli smalt seem<br />
500<br />
450<br />
400<br />
Fe<br />
As & Ph<br />
350 Co<br />
300<br />
250 Bi<br />
Bi<br />
200<br />
150<br />
Ca<br />
Sr<br />
100<br />
50<br />
2 4 6 8 10 12 14 16 18 20<br />
Figure 6. EDXRF spectrum of cobalt blue enamel with a high arsenic content and traces of bismuth<br />
and lead. Venetian eflamelled glass bowl, 1521-1523. Spectrum prepared by David Ford, Science<br />
Group, Victoria & Albert Museum (C. 170-1936).<br />
KeV<br />
Darrah 75
to contain sufficient lead to fulfill the requirements of the above formula or<br />
for a heavy lead glass.<br />
In Venice, there is blue enamel opacified with arsenic 250 years before it is<br />
known to have been used to opacifY glass. In Basohli two centuries later, a<br />
pigment previously unknown in India was used and in three cases; it is very<br />
similar to the Venetian enamel. The enamels are of exactly the same period<br />
as when smalt first appears in European <strong>paintings</strong>, but in no example yet<br />
identified does it contain arsenic and bismuth. Do we have two completely<br />
independent discoveries, or were both importing enamel fr it from some Middle<br />
Eastern source that was using arsenic as an opacifier earlier than the<br />
Venetians? The author has been unable to find any analyses which may hold<br />
the answer to the sources of Persian or Middle Eastern enamels of the relevant<br />
period.<br />
As a footnote, smalt contammg a trace of bismuth was found on a south<br />
German oil painting (ca. 1400-1500 C.E.) in the collection of the Courtauld<br />
Institute of Art (46). In this case, it seems likely that the cobalt oxide colorant<br />
was obtained from the residue of the smelting of bismuth (as described previously),<br />
and that it is an accidental constituent.<br />
Conclusion<br />
Trade, industry, and art are ancient, ubiquitous, and international. This paper<br />
has endeavored to show that "new" pigments can still be found in unexpected<br />
places. The connections and coincidences that become apparent to the scientist<br />
through laboratory testing indicate <strong>historical</strong> trade and industrial developments,<br />
and may sometimes ultimately depend on the craftsperson who<br />
experiments with new materials. Our ability to understand these connections<br />
and coincidences requires knowledge of metalworking, ceramics, glass, and<br />
enamels to explain these connections and coincidences both in time and<br />
place.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Watson, 0. 1994. Personal communication. Ceramics and Glass Collection, Victoria<br />
& Albert Museum, London SW7 2RL.<br />
2. Turner, W E. S., and H. P. Rooksby, 1959. A study of the opalising agents in<br />
ancient opal glasses throughout three thousand four hundred years. Glastechnische<br />
Berichte 32K (VIII): 17-28.<br />
3. Neri, A. 1612. L'Arte Vetraria. Florence.<br />
4. Turner, op. cit.<br />
5. Darrah, J. A. 1992. Venetian and Facon de Venise glass. Unpublished analyses.<br />
London: Victoria & Albert Museum.<br />
6. Merrifield, M. P. 1849. Original treatises Jrom the XIIth to the XVIIlth centuries on<br />
the arts oj painting. John Murray, London, 200-5.<br />
7. Merrifield, op. cit., 704-5.<br />
8. Merrifield, op. cit., cliii.<br />
9. Harley, R. 1982. Artist's pigments c. 160(}-1835. 2nd ed., Butterworth Scientific,<br />
172-73.<br />
10. Harley, op. cit.<br />
11. Ibid.<br />
12. Ibid.<br />
13. Tingry, 1830. The Painter's and Colourman's Complete Guide. 3rd ed. London:<br />
Sherwood, Gilbert and Piper, 45.<br />
14. Linton, W 1852. Ancient and Modem Colours Jrom the Earliest Periods to the Present<br />
Time. Longman, Green, Brown and Longman. London, 55.<br />
15. Field, G. 1890. The Rudiments oj Colours and Colouring. Strahan and Co. London,<br />
63.<br />
16. Mayer, R. 1951. The Artists Handbook oj Materials and Techniques. London: Faber,<br />
69.<br />
17. Isacco, E., and J. A. Darrah. 1993. The ultraviolet and infrared method of analysis.<br />
A scientific approach to the study of Indian miniatures. Artibus Asiae, LIII (3/<br />
4):470-91.<br />
18. Merrifield, op. cit., 650-5 1, 700.<br />
76<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
19. Merrifield, op. cit., 745-6.<br />
20. Merrifield, op. cit., ccxxi-ccxxiii.<br />
21. Merrifield, op. cit.<br />
22. Linton, op cit., 64.<br />
23. Toch, M. 1911. Materials fo r Permanent Painting. Constable & Co., 169.<br />
24. The paint box (W65-1920) also contained Krapplack, Pariser blau, verdigris,<br />
Neapelgelb, Prussian blue, beirnschwarz, lichter ocker, smalt blau, kernschwarz,<br />
Cremserweiss, chrome yellow, Indian red, and two red ochres and a yellow ochre<br />
(with no labels).<br />
25. Grissom, C. A. 1986. Green earth. In Artists' Pigments. Ed. R. L. Feller. Washington:<br />
National Gallery of Art, 141-67.<br />
26. Cove, S. 1991. Constable's oil painting materials and techniques. In Constable. L.<br />
Parris and 1. Fleming-Williams. London: Tate Gallery, 493-5 18.<br />
27. I am grateful to Sarah Cove (Constable Research Project) for drawing my attention<br />
to four fu rther references to burnt green earth and Verona brown in the<br />
latter half of the nineteenth century, unfortunately too late to include them in<br />
this paper.<br />
28. Darrah,]. A., Victoria & Albert Museum Conservation Department Reports:].<br />
F. Millet, The Wood Sawyers, ca. 1850 (CAl 47);]. F. Millet, The Well at Cruchy,<br />
1854 (CAl 49);]. F. Millet, Landscape with Terminal Figure, ca. 1864 (CAl 172);<br />
and P. de Wint, A Woody Landscape, 1812-1816 (261-1872).<br />
29. Merrifield, op. cit., ccxxi-ccxxiii.<br />
30. Singh, R. N. Ancient Indian Class. Delhi: Parimal Publications, 53, 169-71.<br />
31. Vose, R. H. 1980. Class. Collins Archaeology, 30.<br />
32. Muhlethaler, B., and ]. Thissen. 1969. Smalt. Studies in Conservation (14) :47-61.<br />
33. Gettens, R.]., and G. L. Stout. 1958. A Monument of Byzantine wall painting:<br />
The method of construction. Studies in Conservation (3):107-18.<br />
34. Frank, S. 1982. Class and Archaeology. Academic Press, 23.<br />
35. Medley, M. 1976. The Chinese Potter: A Practical History of Chinese Ceramics. Phaidon<br />
Press, 176-78.<br />
36. Lazzarini, L. 1982. The discovery of Egyptian blue in a Roman fresco of the<br />
medieval period (A.D. ninth century) . Studies in Conservation (27):84-86.<br />
37. Merrifield, op. cit., ccvii.<br />
38. Grissom, op. cit.<br />
39. Gettens, R.]., and G. L. Stout. 1966. Painting Materials. New York: Dover, 157-<br />
59.<br />
40. Kuhn, H. 1973. Terminal dates for <strong>paintings</strong> derived from pigment analysis. In<br />
Application of Science in the Examination of Works of Art. Seminar proceedings.<br />
Boston, 199-205.<br />
41. Frank, op. cit.<br />
42. I should like to thank V. Sharma, visiting Nehru Fellow of the Shirnla Museum,<br />
India, for bringing these <strong>paintings</strong> to my attention.<br />
43. Archer, W G. 1973. Indian Paintings of the Punjab Hills. Vol. 1. London, 16, 21.<br />
44. Darrah, 1992, op. cit.<br />
45. Turner, op. cit.<br />
46. I am grateful to A. Burnstock, Conservation and Technology Department, Courtauld<br />
Institute of Art, London University, for allowing me to use the results of<br />
her analysis of St. John of Patmos (CIA 302).<br />
Darrah 77
Abstract<br />
A comprehensive examination was<br />
conducted on a set of twenty-three<br />
seventeenth-century Tibetan thangkas<br />
owned by the Museum of Fine Arts,<br />
Boston (BMFA). The examination<br />
was undertaken because of the<br />
dearth of technical information on<br />
Tibetan thangkas in Western literature.<br />
Infrared reflectography was used<br />
to document color notations drawn<br />
on the ground layer by the artist(s)<br />
as a guide fo r the artist(s) and apprentices.<br />
Samples were taken from<br />
areas displaying such notations and<br />
multiple analytical techniques were<br />
utilized to identify the pigments.<br />
The existence of more than one color-code<br />
system became evident<br />
when the color notations and the<br />
identified pigments from the BMFA<br />
set were compared to those found<br />
on other Tibetan <strong>paintings</strong>. Nine<br />
comparative <strong>paintings</strong> were examined,<br />
fo ur from the BMFA and five<br />
from the Los Angeles County Museum<br />
of Art.<br />
Figure 1. Detail IR-riiflectogram from The<br />
Buddha Shakyamuni Preaching at Dhanyakataka,<br />
showing color codes throughout an<br />
off ering bowl if jewels. Denman Waldo Ross<br />
Collection, Museum if Fine Arts, Boston<br />
(06.333).<br />
An Investigation of Palette and Color Notations<br />
U sed to Create a Set of Tibetan Thangkas<br />
Kate I. Duffy*<br />
Conservation Department<br />
Los Angeles County Museum of Art<br />
5905 Wilshire Boulevard<br />
Los Angeles, California 90036<br />
USA<br />
Jacki A. Elgar<br />
Asiatic Department<br />
Museum of Fine Arts<br />
465 Huntington Avenue<br />
Boston, Massachusetts 021 15<br />
USA<br />
Introduction<br />
Tibetan thangkas are scroll <strong>paintings</strong> that incorporate Buddhist iconography.<br />
The painting is done on cloth that is stitched into a framework of silk borders.<br />
Along the top edge is a wooden stave from which the painting is hung. Along<br />
the bottom edge is a wooden dowel around which the thangka is easily rolled<br />
for storage and transport. In 1906 the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston acquired<br />
a set of twenty-three thangkas (1). The <strong>paintings</strong> in this set had lost their<br />
original thangka format and were mounted on panels upon their arrival.<br />
Originally thirty-three or thirty-four <strong>paintings</strong> comprised the set, depicting<br />
the thirty-two Kings of Shambhala, the Buddha Shakyamuni, and possibly a<br />
Kalachakra Mandala. The existing set, referred to as the "Shambhala <strong>paintings</strong>"<br />
throughout this paper, contains only the Shakyamuni and twenty-two<br />
images of the Kings (Plates 15, 16). Over the years the set has been assigned<br />
various dates and places of origin. Today it is generally accepted to originate<br />
from late seventeenth-century Tibet.<br />
Initially, each Shambhala painting was surveyed by infrared reflectography<br />
(IRR), a nondestructive technique that enabled color codes on the ground<br />
layer to be viewed (2). The color notations are handwritten in Tibetan<br />
dbu. med script. In areas with complex juxta positioning of numerous colors<br />
(such as offering bowls containing multicolored jewels, or garments with intricate<br />
folds), notations were observed in abundance (Fig. 1). Once the infrared<br />
data were compiled, X-ray fluorescence (XRF) analyses of twelve to<br />
fifteen areas were carried out. After examining these results, approximately<br />
ten areas were sampled. Multiple analytical techniques were utilized, including<br />
polarized light microscopy (PLM), Fourier transform infrared spectroscopy<br />
(FTIR), electronprobe microanalysis (EPMA), X-ray diffraction (XRD), highperformance<br />
liquid chromatography (HPLC), ultraviolet/visible absorption<br />
spectrometry (UV /vis), and fluorescence spectrophotometry (FS). Black pigments,<br />
presumably carbon-based, were not studied. Decorative gold was also<br />
not examined except for initial XRF analyses.<br />
Preparing the support<br />
The Shambhala thangkas are all painted on cotton cloth supports. According<br />
to Jackson and Jackson, who documented the practices of living thangka<br />
painters, the painting support is typically first made taut by stitching it to four<br />
pliable sticks (3) . It is then laced into a larger wooden frame, leaving a space<br />
of several inches between outer and inner frames. This space is crucial for<br />
adjusting tension. The support is stiffened by sizing both sides with a gelatin<br />
solution. A mixture of finely ground white pigment and size solution is then<br />
* Author to whom correspondence should be addressed.<br />
78<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Table 1. Tibetan color names, translations, and identified pigments.<br />
COLOR<br />
white<br />
blue<br />
Iliaht blue<br />
OOTA1lQII ENGUSH SPEWNG TIBETAN COLOR NAME ENGLISH TRANSLATION<br />
ka dkar 0 white<br />
Iha mthina azurite<br />
n oo Isnoo Inoht blue<br />
PIGMENTS IDENTIFIED<br />
kaolin 246<br />
azurite (1 2 4,6\<br />
azurite kaolin 2 3 4 6<br />
Iliehter blue<br />
blue/Qreen<br />
blue/oreen 1<br />
Iliaht blue/eraen t=.<br />
dark blue/ reen<br />
ellow<br />
ellow<br />
ellow "<br />
briaht red<br />
dark red<br />
ink<br />
ink<br />
oranae '"<br />
n kva snno skva IJinht blue + white<br />
loa IsoanoDO malachite<br />
azurite kaolin 2 3 4 6<br />
malachite brochantite (2.4)<br />
'= \ 'ana sb ar ra nn "comnounded nreen"<br />
ornimentlreal ar indiao kaolin 1 2 3 4 6<br />
to. , , 'ann sbvar Fana "comnnunded nreen" ornimentlreal ar indiQo kaolin (1 2 3 4 6)<br />
'2.. 'ana kva<br />
fana skva "comoounded reen" + white samole not taken<br />
'= \ IXQ") 'ana naa<br />
fann na "comnnunded teen" + black sam Ie not taken<br />
;:,<br />
.:) <br />
,<br />
'"<br />
fAA.<br />
"-<br />
0( "
Figure 2. Detail IR-refiectogram from The<br />
Twenty-ninth King of Shambhala, showing<br />
the color code ngo kya on the leg of a<br />
goat. Denman Waldo Ross Collection, Museum<br />
if Fine Arts, Boston (06. 335).<br />
The notation ngo (sngo), found on twenty-two Shambhala <strong>paintings</strong>, means<br />
light blue or sky blue (9). Ngo was used for sashes, linings of garments, jewels,<br />
nimbuses, rock crags, and lotus petals. Samples of this color taken from four<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> were identified as a mixture of azurite and kaolin. Further whitening<br />
of this pigment is indicated by the notation ngo kya (sngo skya) and is used<br />
to depict the color for water, a goat, the sky, and the skin color of a king (10,<br />
11, 12). This notation is shown in Figure 2. The additional character kya<br />
indicates that more than 50 percent of the color mixture is white. An actual<br />
quantitative measurement is difficult to carry out; however, one XRD pattern<br />
of a ngo kya sample indicated a higher kaolin:azurite ratio than an XRD<br />
pattern taken from a ngo sample.<br />
Greens. Basic green is denoted by pa (spang), an abbreviation fo r the Tibetan<br />
word meaning malachite (13). Pa, observed on all twenty-three Shambhala<br />
<strong>paintings</strong>, is used for rock crags, land masses, garments, jewels, and foliage.<br />
The green pigment was identified by FTIR and XRD in four samples as a<br />
mixture of malachite and brochantite. Since brochantite is associated with<br />
malachite deposits, the combination is probably a natural one (14). The mined<br />
source for malachite in Tibet was probably the same as previously mentioned<br />
for azurite (15).<br />
A mixed green was found on twenty-one Shambhala <strong>paintings</strong>. Jackson and<br />
Jackson describe a "compounded green" (sbyar ljang) derived from a mixture<br />
of orpiment and indigo (16). The notation uncovered is jang, occasionally<br />
written 'jang, and is used for nimbuses, mountains, lotus centers, and leaves.<br />
The color varies from deep blue to aqua to yellowish green. Five samples<br />
taken from five <strong>paintings</strong> were examined by FTIR, XRD, EPMA, and PLM.<br />
Examination of two of the five dispersed pigment slides revealed a mixture<br />
of realgar and clay. Two other slides contained a mixture of realgar, orpiment,<br />
and clay. The fifth contained a mixture of only orpiment and clay. Indigo,<br />
tentatively identified in three dispersed pigment slides, was positively identified<br />
by FTIR in one of the samples. UV Ivis spectrophotometry analysis of<br />
these samples is planned fo r the fu ture in hopes of definitively identifYing<br />
indigo. The chromatic differences found in the samples may be due to the<br />
fugitive nature of the indigo or to the discoloration of either realgar or orpimento<br />
Indigo may fade when applied thinly, especially when exposed to<br />
sunlight (17). Although each sample appears to be slightly different, it is<br />
thought that the original ingredients were the same: namely, clay, orpimentl<br />
realgar, and indigo. The notation jang kya mang skya), meaning light green,<br />
was revealed on two Shambhala <strong>paintings</strong> for decorative elements of a king's<br />
throne, clouds, and land masses (18). The color notation jang nag jang nag),<br />
meaning dark green, is documented on four Shambhala <strong>paintings</strong> and is used<br />
for leaves and land masses (19). The paint covering this notation as well as<br />
the jang kya has yet to be sampled.<br />
Yellow. Color notations fo r yellow (ser po) were documented on nineteen<br />
Shambhala <strong>paintings</strong>. The notations are actually written as one of the following<br />
three: se, ser, or sare. Se is the most abbreviated and sare is a misspelling,<br />
perhaps to facilitate writing. The pigment mixture for these notations was<br />
consistently fo und to contain orpiment mixed with kaolin and a small amount<br />
of red lead. Five samples from four <strong>paintings</strong> were taken from areas with sare.<br />
FTIR analyses indicate a kaolin-type clay, similar to the spectrum described<br />
for ka. Examination of four samples by EPMA identified silicon, aluminum,<br />
magnesium, and lead, as well as minor amounts of calcium, iron, and arsenic.<br />
PLM revealed clay particles mixed with spherical aggregates of red lead and<br />
fine to medium particles of orpiment. On one slide several large particles of<br />
realgar were identified. Realgar (arsenic disulfide) is often fo und in natural<br />
deposits with orpiment (arsenic trisulfide). Large deposits of orpiment exist<br />
near Chamdo in eastern Tibet and in the Yunnan Province of China (20,<br />
21).<br />
One of the samples taken from the area marked se was nearly colorless. Surface<br />
elemental analysis by XRF identified arsenic as a major element, yet neither<br />
80<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
J<br />
Figure 3. Three-dimensional spectrum of na sample from The Twentieth King of Shambhala.<br />
Denman Waldo Ross Collection, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (06.334).<br />
orpiment nor realgar was fo und by PLM. The FTIR spectrum showed kaolin.<br />
The remainder of the sample was analyzed by XRD. The majority of the<br />
peaks correlate with those of metahalloysite. The remaining peaks were assigned<br />
to kaolinite and arsenolite (As203), a white mineral. It is unlikely that<br />
arsenolite is original to the painting. The yellow orpiment probably faded<br />
and became a whitish arsenic trioxide. The impermanence of arsenic trisulfide<br />
has been documented elsewhere (22).<br />
Reds. Two shades of red are observed on the Shambhala <strong>paintings</strong>. One is a<br />
bright red, the other is muted. The bright red uses the notation ga (rgya mtshal)<br />
for Chinese or Indian vermilion (23). Ga is found on fourteen <strong>paintings</strong> and<br />
depicts a color used for garments, lotus petals, and nimbuses. PLM, XRD, and<br />
FTIR identified the color as a mixture of vermilion and kaolin. Under the<br />
microscope, the vermilion particles appear as finely ground spherical particles<br />
with a deep orange-red color. Several <strong>historical</strong> references are given by Jackson<br />
and Jackson which state that Tibetan painters had access to both synthetic<br />
mercuric sulfide and to the natural mineral cinnabar from China, India, and<br />
Tibet (24).<br />
The darker red is denoted by ma (dmar po), meaning red color (25). Ma is<br />
found on fourteen <strong>paintings</strong> and describes a color used for garments and<br />
sashes. The paint consists of a dual layer with a dark red organic coating over<br />
a red pigment layer consisting of vermilion and kaolin. Further analyses are<br />
pending and no conclusive identification has been made.<br />
Pink. The color pink is used mainly fo r clouds but also for jewels, buckles,<br />
makaras, and garudas (26). Pink is denoted by na or, occasionally, na kar, and<br />
represents lac dye (na rosy mixed with a white pigment (27, 28). Na is fo und<br />
on all twenty-three Shambhala <strong>paintings</strong>. Areas were sampled on six of the<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> and examination of dispersed pigment slides revealed a clay base<br />
mixed with a red dyestuff. FTIR analyses identified the clay as kaolin, as<br />
described earlier. Identification of the dyestuff was achieved through absorption<br />
spectrometry. The identification was fu rther confirmed by fluorescence<br />
.spectrophotometry, utilizing a method described elsewhere (29). The pink<br />
was identified as a lac dye. Figure 3 shows a three-dimensional plot of the<br />
result, which is characteristic of lac. Jackson and Jackson state that much of<br />
the dyestuff was traditionally gathered and prepared in Tibet (30). The dye<br />
is extracted from sticks encrusted with a resinous secretion produced by the<br />
lac insect, Kerria laeea Kerr.; the resin is still found today in the eastern Himalayas<br />
where the warmer climate is more conducive to its fo rmation.<br />
Orange. The color orange is represented by la, an abbreviation for the Tibetan<br />
word fo r minium i khri) (31). The notation was uncovered on garments,<br />
nimbuses, finials, crowns, flames, belts, jewelry, roof tiles, wheels, and vases. La<br />
was found on fifteen Shambhala <strong>paintings</strong>. Three sampled areas were examined<br />
by XRD, EPMA, FTIR, and PLM. The results identified a mixture of<br />
Duffy and Elgar 81
ed lead and calcium carbonate. Historical references given by Jackson and<br />
Jackson state that Tibetan painters did not use the natural mineral minium<br />
(32). Instead, the synthetic lead tetroxide was imported from China, Nepal,<br />
and India. Calcium carbonate was available in Tibet, particularly in Rinpung,<br />
an area north of Lhasa and the seat of government in the sixteenth century<br />
(33). In certain parts of Tibet, the cost of calcium carbonate was prohibitive<br />
and less expensive white pigments were often used. It is unknown why calcium<br />
carbonate was used to lighten the red lead. Other pigments were mixed<br />
with kaolin. The choice may be due to the purity and color of the calcium<br />
based pigment.<br />
Summary of palette and color notations for the Shambhala set<br />
Pigment identification determined that the notations on the ground layer<br />
directly correlate to the pigments used, supporting the belief that these notations<br />
were a guide for the artist(s) and apprentices. Pigments used for the<br />
respective color notations are similar throughout, which is not surprising given<br />
that the Shambhala <strong>paintings</strong> belong to one set.<br />
The artist's palette for the Shambhala <strong>paintings</strong> from the Museum of Fine<br />
Arts, Boston (BMFA) consists of pigments derived from minerals or synthetic<br />
mineral analogues with the exception of two organic dyes, indigo and lac<br />
(Table 1). The pigments identified in this investigation deviate little from the<br />
modern-day painter's palette, as documented by Jackson and Jackson. The<br />
pure blue and green colors were painted with coarsely ground, unadulterated<br />
mineral pigments. All other colors were mixed with a white pigment either<br />
to lighten the color or to achieve translucency. The orange color is unique<br />
in that it was created by mixing calcium carbonate with red lead. In all other<br />
cases kaolin clay was used, perhaps due to its availability and low cost.<br />
All color notations are handwritten in Tibetan dbu. med script on the ground<br />
layer. Some derivative colors are indicated by additional dbu. med characters<br />
to the root notation. Figure 2 is an infrared reflectogram depicting such a<br />
color notation. In this case, kya is added to the root notation ngo. The entire<br />
notation, ngo kya (sngo skya), indicates a light blue color. The second character,<br />
kya, is used to indicate whitening of the existing color, ngo. Another notation<br />
found indicates the darkening of an existing color. The notation has the<br />
additional characters na and ga, pronounced nag. These additions represent<br />
the Tibetan word for black (nag po). In the case of jang nag jang nag), nag<br />
indicates darkening of the existing green color, jang.<br />
Comparative <strong>paintings</strong><br />
Comparative <strong>paintings</strong> from the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston and the Los<br />
Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA) were examined using infrared<br />
reflectography (34, 35). Only a few pigment samples, however, were taken.<br />
The LACMA nineteenth-century commemoration thangka for the bhimaratha<br />
rite from Tashi Lhunpo monastery in central Tibet did not reveal any color<br />
codes.<br />
Figure 4. Detail IR-riiflectogram from A<br />
Mahasiddha and Taklungpa Lamas, showing<br />
the color code pkya on a landmass. Los<br />
Angeles County Museum of Art, Los Angeles<br />
(M. 81.206. 12).<br />
Another LACMA painting, A Mahasiddha and Taklungpa Lamas (ca. late 1700s)<br />
from Taklung monastery in central Tibet, revealed color codes written in<br />
Tibetan dbu. med script. Many of the notations were similar to those documented<br />
on the BMFA Shambhala <strong>paintings</strong>. One distinct difference, however,<br />
is in the manner of differentiating derivative colors. For a light green color,<br />
fo r example, the notation used was pkya (spang skya). A subjoined kya is added<br />
to the root character pa to indicate the addition of white (Fig. 4). Three other<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> examined using IRR revealed color codes in dbu.med script. These<br />
were Shakyamuni with Disciples and Dharmatala, two <strong>paintings</strong> from a set<br />
of five at the BMFA accepted as sixteenth-century eastern Tibetan; and<br />
LACMA's Portrait oj the Fifth Karmapa, accepted as originating in eighteenthcentury<br />
Kham, a region of eastern Tibet.<br />
82<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Figure 5. Detail IR-reflectogram from Shakyamuni<br />
and the Eighteen Arhats, showing<br />
a color code written in Chinese on an Arhat's<br />
back. Los Angeles County Museum of Art,<br />
Los Angeles (M. 83. 105. 18}.<br />
Shakyamuni and the Eighteen Arhats, owned by LACMA and thought to be<br />
an eighteenth-century work from the Kham region, has color codes on the<br />
ground layer written in Chinese. Unlike the brilliant white magnesite ground<br />
found in the Shambhala <strong>paintings</strong>, this ground is buff-colored and composed<br />
of hydrocerussite and kaolinite. Two color-code systems are employed. The<br />
first is numerical: numbers represent specific colors. The second uses Chinese<br />
color names or idioms. Under the dark blue pigment of a begging bowl, IRR<br />
revealed the Chinese character for the number seven. The pigment was identified<br />
by PLM and FTIR as azurite. On an Arhat's back, IRR revealed the<br />
Chinese character for hulled rice (Fig. 5). Examination of a dispersed pigment<br />
slide revealed orpiment mixed with a small amount of red lead. A character<br />
not yet translated was uncovered on several deep red colored areas. Examination<br />
of a dispersed pigment slide revealed vermilion mixed with a small<br />
amount of red lead.<br />
Another LACMA painting with Chinese color codes is Palden Remati and<br />
Her Retinue, accepted as originating from the Gelukpa monastery in Central<br />
Tibet, 1800-1850 C.E. This painting employs the two color-code systems<br />
described earlier with similar notations. The Chinese numbers for three and<br />
seven were used to denote a light blue color. This color has yet to be sampled.<br />
Presumably "seven" represents azurite and "three" represents the second addition<br />
of a white pigment.<br />
Two BMFA <strong>paintings</strong> displaying Chinese color codes come from a set of five<br />
entitled Stories from the Life of Buddha. The set is thought to be eighteenthcentury<br />
Tibetan. Again, evidence of the two color-code systems described<br />
earlier as well as notations fo r derivative colors were found on these <strong>paintings</strong>.<br />
The Chinese numbers for two and six are used to denote a light green. This<br />
color has yet to be sampled. Presumably "six" represents malachite and "two"<br />
the first addition of a white pigment.<br />
Conclusion<br />
Since thangka painting is a tradition passed on from master to apprentice,<br />
determining palette and deciphering color-code systems may prove to be<br />
helpful in the identification of specific workshops or painting lineages. The<br />
color-code system used on the BMFA Shambhala <strong>paintings</strong> has several distinctive<br />
traits. These include an additional character kya (skya) for whitish<br />
tints (Fig. 3) and the additional characters na ga (nag) for darker tints. The<br />
artist of the painting A Mahasiddha and Taklungpa Lamas indicated whitish<br />
tints with a kya subjoined to the root notation (Fig. 4). This system for<br />
distinguishing derivative colors is similar to one still practiced by some modern<br />
Tibetan thangka painters. The <strong>paintings</strong> with color codes in Chinese<br />
script pose many questions which are beyond the scope of this paper. In terms<br />
of the ethnic background of the creators of these works, one can only speculate.<br />
Perhaps the painters were Chinese, since a native Tibetan speaker would<br />
be unlikely to write such "private" communications in a fo reign script. On<br />
the other hand, a bilingual Tibetan might use Chinese characters to communicate<br />
with Chinese apprentices or coworkers. Likewise, one can only<br />
speculate on whether such <strong>paintings</strong> were produced in Tibet or China. In<br />
order to answer these questions, more infrared data and pigment analyses need<br />
to be compiled from thangkas of known Tibetan as well as Chinese origin.<br />
Acknowledgments<br />
The authors are indebted to the following people at the Museum of Fine Arts,<br />
Boston: Rhona MacBeth, John Robbe, Darielle Mason, Anne Morse, Wu Tung, Arthur<br />
Beale, and John Elwood. The authors wish to thank the staff at the Los Angeles<br />
County Museum of Art for their generous support, particularly Victoria Blyth-Hill<br />
and John Twilley. For his analytical contributions, the authors are grateful to Arie<br />
Wallert of the Getty Conservation Institute. The authors wish to thank the following<br />
Lamas and thangka painters for their help in deciphering color codes: Archung Lama<br />
and Gega Lama of Kathmandu, Nepal; Megmar, Alexander Kocharov, and Chating<br />
Jamyang Lama of Dharamsala, India. For his enthusiasm, support and analytical con-<br />
Duffy and Elgar 83
tributions, the authors would like to acknowledge Richard Newman at the Museum<br />
of Fine Arts, Boston.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Ross, D. W 1904. The purchase of twenty-six Tibetan <strong>paintings</strong> from Mme.<br />
Tangeveil, Paris. Unpublished typed letter to M. S. Prichard. Boston: Museum of<br />
Fine Arts.<br />
2. An infrared TV camera equipped with a Hamamatsu No. 2606-06 vidicon was<br />
used at the BMFA.<br />
3. Jackson, D., and J. Jackson. 1984. Tibetan Thangka Painting: Methods & Materials.<br />
London: Serindia Publications, 15-23.<br />
4. Palache, c., H. Berman, and C. Frondel. 1951. Dana's System of Mineralogy. Vol.<br />
II. New York: John Wiley and Sons, Inc., 165.<br />
5. Shaftel, A. 1986. Notes on the technique of Tibetan thangkas. Joumal of the<br />
American Institute for Conservation 25 (2):98.<br />
6. Jackson, op. cit., 174.<br />
7. Ibid., 175.<br />
8. Ibid., 75.<br />
9. Kocharov, A., and ChatingJamyang Lama. 1993. Personal communication. Dharamsala,<br />
India: Library of Tibetan Works & Archives.<br />
10. Ibid.<br />
11. Archumg Lama and Gega Lama. 1993. Personal conmumication. Kathmandu,<br />
Nepal.<br />
12. Jackson, op. cit., 177.<br />
13. Ibid.<br />
14. Palache, op. cit., 543.<br />
15. Jackson, op. cit., 78.<br />
16. Ibid., 176.<br />
17. Gettens, R. J., and G. L. Stout. 1966. Painting Materials: A Short Encyclopaedia.<br />
New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 120.<br />
18. Kocharov, op. cit.<br />
19. Megmar. 1993. Personal communication. Dharamsala, India: Library of Tibetan<br />
Works & Archives.<br />
20. Jackson, op. cit., 82.<br />
21. Palache et aI., op. cit., 268.<br />
22. FitzHugh, E. W n.d. Orpiment and realgar. In Artist's Pigments: A Handbook of<br />
their History and Characteristics, Vol. III. Forthcoming.<br />
23. Jackson, op. cit., 176.<br />
24. Ibid., 80.<br />
25. Ibid., 174<br />
26. Makaras are mythological sea creatures. Garudas are guardians of the sky (part<br />
bird and part human).<br />
27. Jackson, op. cit., 92.<br />
28. Kocharov, op. cit.<br />
29. Wallert, A. 1986. Fluorescent assay of quinone, lichen, and redwood dyestuffs.<br />
Studies in Conservation 31 (4):145-55.<br />
30. Jackson, op. cit., 113.<br />
31. Ibid., 93.<br />
32. Ibid., 81.<br />
33. Ibid., 82.<br />
34. Paintings at LACMA were surveyed with an infrared TV camera, Quantex QVC<br />
2500, equipped with a bandpass interference filter (1.6 micron wavelength) to<br />
eliminate chromatic aberrations of the lenses.<br />
35. Kossolapov, A. J. 1993. An improved vidicon TV camera for IR-reflectography.<br />
ICOM Committee fo r Conservation Preprints, 25-31.<br />
84<br />
Histon:cal Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Abstract<br />
Icons preserved in the Nile valley<br />
are the least known of Egypt's antiquities.<br />
In the gap between the early<br />
Coptic icons from the fourth to<br />
sixth centuries and those of the second<br />
half of the eighteenth century, a<br />
recently discovered group of medieval<br />
icons that are difficult to date<br />
and attribute has assumed prominence.<br />
Two beam icons, painted on<br />
similarly made panels of sycamore<br />
timber, were selected to describe in<br />
detail. Even preliminary research on<br />
their technology has resulted in new<br />
material for the study of icon painting<br />
and the continuity of <strong>historical</strong><br />
Egyptian techniques, materials, and<br />
mythology into Christian times.<br />
Figure 1. Detail of the reverse side if beam<br />
B. Photograph by Z. Skalova.<br />
New Evidence for the Medieval Production of Icons<br />
in the Nile Valley<br />
Zuzana Skalova<br />
Foundation for the Preservation of Icons in the Middle East<br />
Conservation of Coptic Art Project<br />
12 Tolombat Street, Apt. 17<br />
Garden City, Cairo<br />
Egypt<br />
Introduction<br />
Even the earliest preserved Coptic icons demonstrate that they were created<br />
for monastic circles. They repeatedly portray local saints (often monks) or<br />
they express the doctrines of Coptic religious thought. This monastic patronage<br />
remained constant.<br />
Many Coptic icons were until recently in a poor state of preservation. Today,<br />
only a small number of icons in the Nile valley are restored to their full<br />
advantage (1). Consequently, few art historians have looked for old icons or<br />
recognized them (2) . However, important medieval icons hanging in the<br />
church of St. Mercurius Abu's-Saifain in Old Cairo were admired and quite<br />
correctly assessed by Alfred Butler during the 1870s. Although they were<br />
"dim with age and indistinguishable," he concluded that "the icons generally<br />
speaking are ancient and well executed." Butler's comments on the disfIgurement<br />
of the pictures caused by remarkably careless technology, when compared<br />
with Italian panels, can serve as the point of departure fo r this study<br />
(3) .<br />
During the last five years, the author has fo und, studied, and in some cases<br />
restored, some twenty medieval icons, which can be preliminarily dated between<br />
the thirteenth and the fifteenth centuries. They are nearly all large<br />
icons, clearly made for public veneration in Eastern churches. Some of these<br />
reflect distinct Coptic patronage through their iconography (4).<br />
In assembling and attributing the group, the author relied primarily on technical<br />
aspects emphasizing the icons' kinship, which clearly shows that they<br />
emerged from the same local tradition of workmanship. Common features<br />
include the use of indigenous wood (usually sycamore), the awkward construction<br />
of the panels, a ground layer containing anhydrite, a limited range<br />
of pigments, the use oflow-quality azurite blue, an unburnished golden background,<br />
and a thin gray layer of varnish (5).<br />
Stylistic and iconographic aspects are more hybrid, but also reflect a rather<br />
peripheral and culturally mixed background. This suggests that local craftsmen<br />
and foreign painters were working together in Egypt. Thus, though these<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> are varied in style, the panels have such consistent parallels in the<br />
choice of wood and peculiar carpentry, that they can be classified together.<br />
They are manufactured from narrow, roughly assembled planks held together<br />
with huge traverses and narrow boards, and nailed with big iron nails driven<br />
in from the front. The rifts between the planks are filled on both sides with<br />
plaster and covered with palm bark fiber, and sometimes textiles, to smoothen<br />
the surface (Fig.1). When compared with panels attributed to the Greek icon<br />
workshops, they appear clumsy and extremely heavy to transport, a fact that<br />
would additionally testifY to local provenance. The choice of omnipresent<br />
sycamore wood might have been dictated by scarcity and the costs of more<br />
suitable material in the Nile valley (6) .<br />
The finish of the back sides of these <strong>paintings</strong> is also characteristic for the<br />
group. They were invariably covered with a thick layer of plaster, decorated<br />
with alternating lines of wavy pink-brown and gray-blue brush strokes. This<br />
is a rare feature in icon painting, and it may suggest the formula of a work-<br />
Skalova 85
shop. Dissemination of such formulae may even have caused decoration of<br />
this type to occur on the back sides of icons in the collection of St. Catherine's<br />
Monastery at Sinai (7). However, these Sinaitic panels are skillfully<br />
made from imported wood; and they are analogous to many Byzantine icons<br />
preserved in Europe, rather than to the Coptic icons (8).<br />
The icon supports in the Nile valley must have been made according to a<br />
different studio tradition. According to their technology, they clearly fit into<br />
the context of native (presumably Coptic) practice. Furthermore, the majority<br />
of the previously mentioned technical characteristics can be traced back to<br />
the industries and materials of Graeco-Roman and Pharaonic Egypt (9).<br />
Two medieval beam icons<br />
Figure 2a, b. One of two cuts, top, showing<br />
medalliollS of all arChat1gel alld an Old Testament<br />
prophet; m'ld Blessing Christ, depicted<br />
ill the central medal/ioll, below. Photographs<br />
by Z. Skalova.<br />
Two unique beam icons in the church of St. Mercurius Abu's-Saifain may be<br />
singled out for discussion. This church was the seat of the Coptic patriarchy<br />
in the Middle Ages and it is likely that both sacred pictures were made for<br />
it (10).<br />
The first icon, The Virgin with Child Enthroned between Archangels, Nine Church<br />
Fathers and Nine Coptic Monks, measures 44.5 X 246.5 cm, and is shown in<br />
Plate 17 and Figures 3 (left) and 4a, b. The second icon, Six Equestrian Saints<br />
(originally ten saints), measures 45 X 207.5 cm and is shown in Plates 18a,<br />
b and in Figures 2a, b; 3 (right); and 4c-e. The two icons will be referred to<br />
here as beam A and beam B, respectively.<br />
Thanks to Butler's description and drawing, the conservation history of these<br />
two icons can be traced back more than a century (Fig. 3). Both icons were<br />
repeatedly restored. Beam A is preserved in its original form, which has<br />
helped in reconstructing the structurally altered beam B. Butler counted only<br />
four horsemen in beam B (Fig. 3, right). Today, remarkably, beam B consists<br />
of six horsemen. Some time in the past, this longitudinal icon was cut into<br />
pieces. Meanwhile, two more horsemen from the original beam were added<br />
to Butler's fragment (Figs. 2a, 4c).<br />
The equestrian saints are depicted in sculptured and gilded arches that carry<br />
eleven alternating medallions with Old Testament prophets, archangels, and<br />
the blessing Christ. Each horseman is identified by inscriptions in Coptic and<br />
Arabic.<br />
Additionally, the symmetry of beam B is marred by the fact that the six holy<br />
horsemen are riding in conflicting directions. It is obvious that their initial<br />
order and number have been changed. Two cuts, visible in the restored panel,<br />
confirm this observation (Fig. 4c). Such an intervention must have been the<br />
work of a person who failed to understand the symbolism of this picture. It<br />
seems unlikely that these saints were arranged to gallop away from the Savior<br />
instead of toward him, as is proper in a hieratic composition. Christ, depicted<br />
en buste in one of the medallions, can be seen on Butler's fragment (Fig. 2b).<br />
If the placement of Christ's medallion is accepted as being in the middle of<br />
the beam icon, the number of horsemen comes to ten. When reconstructed,<br />
beam B should be about 350 cm long (Fig. 4e). Clearly, both beams were<br />
conceived together to form part of broader didactic program.<br />
A peculiar aspect of both <strong>paintings</strong> is their carpentry. They are assembled<br />
from irregularly cut horizontal pieces, three across the width and nine across<br />
the length (Figures 4b and 4d). Additional sculptured arches are nailed on the<br />
front. On the reverse, vertically placed traverses hold the planks together. Both<br />
\lnnooonnl llnoOOII<br />
FiJ!urc 3. Bea1l1 A (lift); bealll B (riJ!ht). Drawillg by A!fred BIIIler, 1884.<br />
86<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
I )--------------------------1 I i<br />
(b)<br />
------ ---<br />
------- ------<br />
----<br />
--------------------<br />
-------<br />
----.--<br />
---<br />
---<br />
-----<br />
(c)<br />
t<br />
t !<br />
1- - -<br />
---<br />
---<br />
1---<br />
- - - ---<br />
(d)<br />
018<br />
(e)<br />
i<br />
FIgure 4a. Beam A, front. Drawing by Sameh Adly.<br />
Figure 4b. Beam A, reverse. Drawing by Sameh Ad/y.<br />
Figure 4c. Beam B, front. Drawing by Sameh Adly.<br />
Figure 4d. Beam B, reverse as preserved today. Drawing by Sameh Ad/y.<br />
Figure 4e. Beam B, recol1structed. Drawil1g by Sameh Ad/y.<br />
beam icons in the church of St. Mercurius Abu's-Saifain are not only constructed<br />
from planks of the same irregular dimensions, but the wood looks<br />
so similar that it could come from one tree. The wood was identified as<br />
sycamore (Ficus sycomorus L.): the traverses are made from cypress (Cupressus<br />
sempervirens var. horizontalis Gord.) (1 1).<br />
The Egyptian sycamore tree<br />
The peculiar shape and dimensions of the support planks of the beam icons<br />
A and B might have been dictated by the diameter of the tree trunk that<br />
provided the timber. It does not seem probable that the patron of such significant<br />
icons would economize on the timber. The choice of painter and<br />
quality of materials usually testifY to the resources and intentions of the client.<br />
For the art historian, the interest of this research lies not only in the date and<br />
provenance of the wood (provide by dendrochronological tests), but mainly<br />
in the reason why sycamore timber was preferred (12). The use of sycamore<br />
for these icons might have derived from the holy attributes of the tree, which<br />
would have been of great importance to the patron.<br />
Skalova 87
Figure 5. One of many scenes from Pharaonic tombs: an image of the tree goddess pouring blessings<br />
011 the deceased. Under the sycamore's shadow are the souls of these deceased ill the form of Ba birds.<br />
After N. de Garis Davis's Seven Private To mbs at Kurnah. Mond Excavations at Thebes [I.<br />
1948. Ed. A. H. Gardiner. London, plate XXXIV.<br />
The symbolic importance of the sycamore tree for Copts originates in Luke<br />
19:4, where the sycamore tree was said to have been climbed by Zachaeus<br />
in his eagerness to see Christ. In Coptic folklore, the sycamore apparently<br />
symbolizes the Coptic people (13). This suggests strong continuity with the<br />
traditional worship of the sycamore.<br />
In ancient Egypt, the sycamore was so common that one of the names of<br />
Egypt was "Land of the Sycamore" (14). It was considered the most holy<br />
tree, thanks to the deep shadow its protective crown offered in this sunny<br />
country. Hathor, Nut, and Isis-the three ancient goddesses-were believed<br />
to dwell in the sycamore and were often depicted nestling in its crown, mostly<br />
as a personification of the tree itself (Fig. 5) (15).<br />
The Pharaonic sycamore cult seems to have survived into local Christian<br />
mythology (16). Even today, people do not like to cut old sycamore. The tree<br />
grows in village cemeteries to provide protective shadow. Associations with<br />
the Virgin Mary resting in Egypt under the sycamore also remain alive to<br />
this day. At the well at Matariyya in Heliopolis, today a suburb of Cairo, a<br />
centuries-old sycamore still grows that is believed to have been visited by the<br />
Virgin with the infant Jesus. This holy place is abundantly described by many<br />
pilgrims as having contained, through the Middle Ages, an enchanting orchard<br />
of balsam and other exotic trees, such as cypresses (17).<br />
Christian Ethiopia, which is closely connected with Coptic Egypt, still believes<br />
that in each sycamore one Maria lives; they call the sycamore Marianet.<br />
The link between the ancient Egyptian goddess Hathor, Lady of the Sycamore,<br />
and Christian Virgin Mary can be surmised (18).<br />
Conclusion<br />
In Egypt, image veneration and sycamore tree veneration have been practiced<br />
since antiquity, and great importance was attached to the use of special wood<br />
for sacred images. This tradition was so strong that its survival into Coptic<br />
times is not surprising. Thus the Coptic icons are the repository of an earlier<br />
heritage.<br />
88<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
The understanding of an icon and its appropriate restoration according to its<br />
role and spiritual meaning in the church requires not only modern conservation<br />
training and scientific apparatus, but also a certain degree of theological<br />
sensitivity and awareness. The symbolism with respect to the actual process<br />
of icon painting used to have a fu ndamental significance. What was common<br />
knowledge to contemporaries must be reinterpreted after centuries of oblivion<br />
(19, 20). The icon cannot be understood apart from the wider cultural<br />
and theological context to which it belongs, as local traditions differ.<br />
With these typically Egyptian traditions in mind, the author wonders but<br />
cannot scientifically prove, if the twin beam icons might have been made<br />
from wood of an ancient sycamore from some sacred Coptic place, such as<br />
Matariyya. This would perhaps explain why the quality of timber was deemed<br />
unimportant.<br />
The construction of panels and the use of sycamore, as well as the distinctive<br />
Coptic iconography, all strengthen the attribution of these sacred pictures to<br />
the Nile valley. Future comparative study of the ancient Egyptian beliefs and<br />
technologies, and their survival through icon painting in the Nile valley, may<br />
enrich our knowledge about one of the oldest and most conservative pictorial<br />
traditions in the world.<br />
Acknowledgments<br />
The training program, "Conservation of Coptic Icons," in Egypt was made possible<br />
by the generous support of the Netherlands Directorate General of the Ministry of<br />
Foreign Affairs and the Egyptian Antiquities Organisation. The author, an art historian<br />
specializing in the conservation and restoration of icons, has been working<br />
since 1989 as the Field Director of the Coptic Museum in Cairo.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Skalova, Z. 1990. Conservation problems in Egypt: icons, preliminary classification<br />
and some case studies. In ICOM Committee fo r COl/servation Preprints, 777-<br />
82.<br />
2. Skalova, Z. 1991. A little noticed thirteenth-century Byzantine icon in the<br />
church of St. Barbara in Old Cairo, "The Virgin with Child Enthroned." Bulletin<br />
de la Societe d'Archeologie Copte, xxx. Cairo, 93-103.<br />
3. Butler, A. 1884. The Anciel/t Coptic Churches of Egypt, Vol I. Reprint 1970. Oxford,<br />
104.<br />
4. These and other medieval icons in Egypt will be studied and included in my<br />
Ph.D. dissertation, Mediaellal lcol/s ill Egypt, at the University of Leiden.<br />
5. I anL very indebted to Paolo and Laura Mora, who, when in Egypt as directors<br />
of the Conservation team of the Nefertari Wall Painting Conservation Project<br />
1986-1992, kindly shared their experience and advised me in this matter.<br />
6. Rutschowscaya, M-H. 1986. Catalogue des bois de l'Egypte copte. Paris. See also<br />
Rutschowscaya, M-H. 1991. Coptic Woodwork. Coptic EI/cyclopedia, Vol. 7,<br />
2325-47. To my knowledge, the research on Coptic wood and carpentry is<br />
limited and until recently there has been little scientific investigation on medieval<br />
icon panels extant in the Nile valley.<br />
7. Mouriki, D. 1990. Icons from the twelfth to the fifteenth century. In Sinai: Treasures<br />
of the MOl/astery of St. Catherine. Ed. K. A. Manafis. Athens, 385, note 25.<br />
8. This conclusion is based on my observations of the beam icons hanging in the<br />
church of the Transfiguration in St. Catherine Monastery at Sinai and various<br />
medieval icons in the European collections.<br />
9. Lucas, A., and J. R. Harris. 1962. Allciel/t Egyptiar/ Materials and Illdustries. 4th ed.<br />
London.<br />
10. Sawirus Ibn al-Mukaffa. 1970. History of Patriarchs of the Egyptian Church. Translated<br />
by A. Kather and 0. H. E. KHS-Burmester. Cairo. Vol. III, Part II.<br />
11. [ am very grateful to Prof. dr. P Baas, Onderzoekinstituut Rijksherbariuml<br />
Hortus Botanicus, Rijksuniversiteit Leiden, fo r identifying these species.<br />
12. Rutschowscaya, M-H. 1990. Le bois dans l'Egypte chrt:tienne. In Artistes, artisal/s<br />
et productiol/ artistiqlle au Moyel/ Age, [I. Colloque international. 2-6 Mai 1983.<br />
Ed. Xavier Barral I Altet. Paris: Universite de Rennes, 214-1 5. See the discussion<br />
following her article about difficulties encountered when analysing wooden objects<br />
from Egypt at the Louvre by the carbon-14 method and dendrochronology.<br />
Skalova 89
13. MacCoull, L. S. B. 1993. The Apa Apollos Monastery ofPharaon and its papyrus<br />
archive. In Museon. Tome 106, note 11. MacCoull cites Les Sycamores, a book<br />
about the accomplishments of 1930s Coptic cultural figures that was published<br />
in 1978 in Cairo.<br />
14. Baum, N. 1988. Arbres et Arbrusles d'Egypte ancienne. Orientalia Lovainiensis Analecta.<br />
Leuven, 17-75.<br />
15. Moftah, R. 1959. Die Heiligen Baume im Altem Agypten. Ph.D. diss. Gottingen:<br />
Georg-August-University.<br />
16. My thanks to Egyptologists Ramses Moftah and Michael Jones in Cairo fo r<br />
encouraging this line of interdisciplinary inquiry. OlafE. Kaper provided suitable<br />
illustration.<br />
17. Zanetti, U. 1993. Matarieh, La sainte famille et les baumiers. In Analecta Bollandiana<br />
(1 11):21-68.<br />
18. Moftah, op. cit., 23.<br />
19. These are concepts that belong to religious tradition and are transm.itted in a<br />
way that cannot always be scientifically investigated, which should not dim.inish<br />
their sign.ificance. I would like to thank the priests of the church of St. Mercurius<br />
Abu's-Saifain for their kind support in the project, as well as my senior trainees<br />
Magdi Mansour Badawy, Hanan Nairouz, and Mona Hussein, for their assistance.<br />
20. Abu-el-Makarim, a Coptic priest from the church Harat Zuweilah in Cairo, left<br />
a manuscript dated 1206 that describes the monasteries and churches of the Nile<br />
Delta. He mentions that in the church of St. George at Netel near Port Said,<br />
one icon of St. George is painted on a piece of the very wood used to torture<br />
the martyr saint himself. See Father Samuel. 1990. Icons et iconographie en<br />
Egypte au XIIe siecle d'apres Ie manuscrit d'Abu-el-Makarim, publie en Arabe<br />
en Caire en 1984. Le Monde Copte, No. 18. Limoges.<br />
90<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Abstract<br />
As part of a five-year systematic survey<br />
of the techniques of English<br />
medieval wall <strong>paintings</strong>, the highly<br />
important late Romanesque and early<br />
Gothic <strong>paintings</strong> in the Holy<br />
Sepulchre Chapel in Winchester are<br />
being examined. The use of red lake<br />
in the Romanesque scheme is the<br />
earliest recorded use of this pigment<br />
in English wall painting; the identification<br />
of vivianite, now partially altered<br />
to a yellow form, is the first in<br />
any English medieval wall painting.<br />
All aspects of the technique of both<br />
schemes, including their complex<br />
laying out, pentimenti, pigments,<br />
media, and gilding are discussed in<br />
the context of contemporary European<br />
painting.<br />
Te chniques of the Romanesque and Gothic<br />
Wall Paintings in the Holy Sepulchre Chapel,<br />
Winchester Cathedral<br />
Helen C. Howard<br />
Leverhulme Research Fellow<br />
Conservation of Wall Painting Department<br />
Courtauld Institute of Art, Somerset House<br />
Strand, London WC2R ORN<br />
United Kingdom<br />
Introduction<br />
The exquisite Romanesque and Gothic <strong>paintings</strong> in the Holy Sepulchre<br />
Chapel constitute what is arguably the finest medieval painted interior in<br />
England. Dating from circa 1175 and circa 1220, respectively, their iconography<br />
and style have been discussed exhaustively by Park (1). From the technical<br />
point of view, they provide fascinating insight into the execution of two<br />
schemes of exceptionally high quality, separated in date by scarcely forty years,<br />
but painted in very different techniques. Although the technique of the earlier<br />
decoration is rooted in the tradition of painting a fresco, an additional proteinaceous<br />
binding medium and also lead pigments have been identified,<br />
which, together with the sweeping compositional changes made at an advanced<br />
stage of the painting process, suggest that significant portions were<br />
completed a secco. The Gothic painting is perhaps more typical of English<br />
medieval wall painting; though carbonation of lime is still the principal mechanism<br />
of binding, the use of large plaster patches, inclusion of additional<br />
organic binding media, and incorporation of pigments unsuitable for application<br />
in alkaline conditions preclude describing the technique as fresco.<br />
Investigation of the painting technique was undertaken as part of a comprehensive<br />
five-year study, funded by the Leverhulme Trust, of English medieval<br />
wall painting techniques and in conjunction with a conservation campaign<br />
in the chapel undertaken by the Courtauld Institute of Art and sponsored by<br />
the Skaggs Foundation (2) .<br />
The <strong>paintings</strong><br />
The most striking area of late twelfth-century painting is on the east wall of<br />
the Chapel, comprising a Deposition in the upper register and, below the<br />
dividing geometric border, an Entombment with the Maries at the Sepulchre and<br />
the Harrowing of Hell. Uncovered when the overlying thirteenth-century<br />
scheme was detached in the 1960s, the painting has escaped the ravages of<br />
multifarious conservation treatments to which it would almost certainly have<br />
been subjected had it been exposed earlier. The surface was severely keyed<br />
in preparation for the thirteenth-century plaster, but despite these numerous<br />
damages the superb quality of the painting is evident (Fig. 1 and Plate 19).<br />
Traces of the Romanesque scheme survive elsewhere, as on the south wall<br />
above the western recess where a Resurrection of the Dead with an angel blowing<br />
the last trumpet is positioned on either side. Originally situated in the<br />
corresponding position above the eastern recess, but now transferred to the<br />
north wall of the chapel, is a striking mitered head and a sinopia for three<br />
scenes set under architectural canopies. To date, this sinopia is a unique find<br />
in the context of English medieval wall painting, and provides important<br />
evidence fo r the technique of the Romanesque scheme.<br />
Extensive remodeling of the chapel in the early thirteenth century, including<br />
the insertion of a rib vault, destroyed large portions of the Romanesque<br />
scheme and necessitated a complete redecoration. The resulting scheme is<br />
also of exceptionally high quality, but has been marred by a series of invasive<br />
conservation treatments. The painting originally decorating the east wall (and<br />
Howard 91
Figure ,' , Holy Sepulchre Chapel, Winchester Cathedrar General view of the twe!Jih-celltllry paillfill.R Oil the east wan Photograph courtesy if the<br />
COllservation if Wall Paintillg DepartlUCllt, Courtauld Institflle of Art, LOHdon,<br />
92 Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
later transferred to an artificial support at the west end of the hapel) mirrored<br />
the iconography of the Romanesque painting beneath with a few minor<br />
adjustments. The Magdalene in the Deposition was replaced by a centurion<br />
holding a scroll, and the Harrowing of Hell was moved to the recess of the<br />
adjacent south wall and paired with the Noli me Tangere. Above this recess is<br />
the Entry into Jerusalem and a newly identified scene of the Washing of Christ's<br />
Feet (3). Within the western recess of the south wall are scenes of the Martyrdom<br />
of St. Catherine of Alexandria. A striking image of Christ as Pantocreator,<br />
surrounded by evangelist symbols, fills the eastern segment of the vault,<br />
while the remaining segments are painted with Infancy scenes (Annunciation,<br />
Nativity, and Annunciation to the Shepherds) , foliage, and busts in roundels.<br />
Other thirteenth-century painting survives on the northern arches of the<br />
chapel.<br />
Conservation history<br />
Until the conservation program in the 1960s, very little of the twelfth-century<br />
painting was visible, as it lay beneath the later scheme. The thirteenth-century<br />
painting was itself in extremely poor condition, due to the combination of<br />
humidity and the wax coating and hair nets applied by Professor Tristram in<br />
the 1920s to consolidate the surface (4) . The conservation campaign in the<br />
1960s involved the following: transfer of the thirteenth-century painting on<br />
the east wall to an artificial support at the west end; detachment and replacement<br />
in situ of other areas of thirteenth-century painting; transfer of the<br />
mitered head and sinopia from the twelfth-century scheme onto the north<br />
wall; partial removal of the wax coating; and consolidation with skimmed<br />
milk and lime water. This complex conservation history has far-reaching implications<br />
for the conclusions that can be drawn for the original technique<br />
of the thirteenth-century <strong>paintings</strong>.<br />
Technique of the twelfth-century painting<br />
Plaster. Information on the construction mortar, depth, and stratigraphy of<br />
the Romanesque plaster is largely concealed by edging repairs and fills. There<br />
are, however, two areas which supply valuable evidence for the original technique.<br />
The ashlar support is visible at dado level where the plaster has been<br />
lost, and it is clear that a single plaster layer approximately 0.5 cm in thickness<br />
was applied to the stone. Elsewhere there are two distinct plaster layers: the<br />
uppermost layer, the intonaco, is approximately 0.5 cm in thickness, while<br />
below that a slightly coarser and more yellow plaster appears to be about 1.0<br />
cm thick. It seems reasonable to assume that a layer of plaster was applied to<br />
level the masonry where necessary, and that the intonaco was then either<br />
applied over this, or directly on to the stone.<br />
Unfortunately, it was not possible to take a sufficiently large sample for full<br />
analysis of the original plaster, but from visual examination of the polished<br />
cross sections it was estimated that a fmely graded inert aggregate, principally<br />
subangular quartz, was combined with lime in a ratio of approximately 2: 1<br />
to create the intonaco. The conspicuous addition of chopped straw and fibers<br />
to the plaster suggests that they were included to increase the mechanical<br />
strength of the render. This organic material may have had the additional<br />
function of acting as a mechanical buffer by absorbing moisture during the<br />
setting of the plaster (5). In some samples, it is also clear that charcoal particles<br />
have been incorporated, with the greatest concentration beneath areas that<br />
are predominantly blue (Plate 20, samples 3 and 5). It seems likely that the<br />
charcoal was incorporated to reduce the light scatter from the white substrate,<br />
thereby increasing the covering power of the blue mineral pigments.<br />
Although the surface texture itself is fairly smooth, the overall topography of<br />
the painted surface is remarkably uneven . The application of the plaster is<br />
rather crude, with deep undulations readily visible in raking light (6) .<br />
There are two principal horizontal zones of plaster corresponding to the<br />
narrative registers, and another for the ornamental border that divides these<br />
Howard 93
egisters (Fig. 2). Additionally, within each of the principal plaster zones, there<br />
are further divisions that roughly conform to the various individual figures<br />
or groups of figures. These secondary plaster joins, many of which are rather<br />
indistinct (particularly in the lower register) make an understanding of the<br />
plastering sequence problematic. It is evident however, that the narrow central<br />
plaster patch for the geometric border was applied before the plastering of<br />
either narrative register. In the upper register, the roughly executed plaster<br />
joins, applied wet-over-dry, clearly indicate that the patch for the central cross<br />
was applied first, followed by that fo r the main figure group, and finally those<br />
for the flanking figures. By contrast, the plaster joins in the lower register are<br />
indistinct, and the application appears to have been wet-on-wet, allowing the<br />
edges to merge. Careful examination of the surface in raking light does, however,<br />
indicate that the central portion may have been applied first.<br />
The plastering of the east wall of the chapel differs significantly from that<br />
typically found elsewhere in England, where accumulated evidence at Kempley,<br />
Witley, and Canterbury suggests that application in broad horizontal<br />
bands is characteristic of the Romanesque period (7). The plaster patches at<br />
Winchester do, however, find parallels both in England and on the Continent:<br />
in the scheme (ca. 1100) in the parish church at Hardham (Sussex), where<br />
separate plaster patches were applied for each scene as well as for the borders;<br />
and in the Romanesque <strong>paintings</strong> of Vicq (France), in which the plaster was<br />
applied in a grid of large rectangular patches corresponding to the narrative<br />
and ornamental divisions (8, 9).<br />
Preparatory techniques. The detachment of a portion of the thirteenth-century<br />
scheme from the south wall in the 1960s provided particularly significant<br />
information concerning the laying out of the Romanesque painting. A small<br />
but exquisite mitered head was uncovered here; underneath was found a<br />
sinopia for three scenes set beneath architectural canopies.<br />
The existence of a sinopia on the east wall, traces of which are visible where<br />
tiny losses in the into naco exist, was noted by Park (10). Evidence from the<br />
stratigraphy of the plaster and from the examination of cross sections, such as<br />
that of Sample 29 showing a trace of red pigment (red earth with some<br />
cinnabar) beneath approximately 0.4 cm of plaster, suggests that the sinopia<br />
was applied either directly on the ashlar support or leveling plaster.<br />
Examination of the surface of the Romanesque plaster in raking light reveals<br />
the use of snapped lines marking the position of the central ornamental border.<br />
The geometric elements within the border were set out by incision into<br />
the wet plaster with the aid of a compass. When this border was moved to<br />
a slightly lower position, new incisions were made, but in this case a slightly<br />
different quality of line is evident since the plaster was clearly no longer as<br />
fresh. Incision into the wet plaster is evident in other distinct areas, as in<br />
Christ's arm and the flagon of holy oil in the Entombment. In addition, a<br />
preparatory drawing in yellow iron oxide, clearly visible wherever the paint<br />
layers have been lost, was used to place the main pictorial elements within<br />
the visual field.<br />
Pentimenti. The Romanesque <strong>paintings</strong> are particularly fascinating from the<br />
point of view of the changes made by the painter at an advanced stage of<br />
the painting process. This is particularly evident in the Entombment, in which<br />
the remains of another head and a broad-brimmed hat can just be seen to<br />
the left of the Virgin's head, indicating the original position of the figure<br />
anointing Christ's body with oil (in the final version placed to the right of<br />
the Virgin) .<br />
Many other alterations are visible. For instance, the figure of St. John in the<br />
Deposition was finally painted with his hand gesturing toward Christ, but the<br />
yellow preliminary drawing indicates that he was originally conceived with<br />
his hand held to his face in grief.<br />
Palette. The present research has established that the palette of the Romanesque<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> included: gold leaf, Au; natural ultramarine,<br />
94<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Winchester Cathedral<br />
Holy Sepulchre Chapel<br />
o 20 60 80 100 em<br />
East Wall<br />
,<br />
§<br />
i<br />
/<br />
.f<br />
J<br />
.j<br />
...... . . ......... ....... ....... ............. .. -. ... _, . ....... , .... , .. ... -........... --.... _ . .,_ .... .<br />
\,<br />
\<br />
t. , "<br />
Incisions<br />
D Snapped Lines<br />
Plaster Joins<br />
F(rzure 2. Diagral1l of the east lIlall scholle, showillg the positioll of plaster joills, illcisioll, allli S/lapped cord Illarks. Diagrmll collrtesy of the COllserPatioll<br />
if Wall Paimillg Department, Courtauld Illstitute of Art, Londoll.<br />
Howard 95
3Na20·3Al203·6Si02·2Na2S; vivianite Fe3 + 2(P04)2·SH20; cinnab:l.r, HgS;<br />
red lake; red lead, Pb304; hematite, Fe203; green earth,<br />
K[(Al,Fe"')·(Fe",Mg)]· (AlSi3,Si4)O,o (OH)2; yellow iron oxide, Fe203·H20;<br />
and lime white, CaC03.<br />
One of the most interesting findings is that red lake was used for the unusual<br />
pink color of Nicodemus's robe. This is the earliest identification of this<br />
pigment in English wall painting, though at Miistair (Switzerland) a red lake<br />
pigment thought to be madder has been identified in the Carolinian scheme<br />
of circa SOO (11).<br />
The inclusion of vivianite in the palette is particularly surprising, not only<br />
since this pigment has not previously been identified in English medieval wall<br />
painting, but also because it was clearly selected fo r its distinctive coloristic<br />
qualities rather than as an economic alternative to other mineral blues (12).<br />
The characteristic deep indigo blue of vivianite, set against a pale blue of<br />
natural ultramarine combined with lime white, was employed for the central<br />
details on the vair (bluish gray and white squirrel fur) lining of Nicodemus's<br />
cloak in the Deposition. Although the iron phosphate mineral has now altered<br />
and appears green, an examination of the Morgan leaf from the Winchester<br />
Bible (ca. 11 70-1 1 SO) shows that vair linings were represented by pale blue<br />
elements with a dark blue center, and it is clear that this was also the intention<br />
in the wall <strong>paintings</strong>.<br />
Binding media. Analysis undertaken initially by microchemical tests on thin<br />
sections and cross sections was followed in some cases by Fourier transform<br />
infrared microspectroscopy. Results confirmed that although the carbonation<br />
of lime is the principal binding mechanism, a proteinaceous component is<br />
also present in some samples. A proteinaceous component was identified, for<br />
example, in a paint layer consisting of red lead, lead white, and calcium carbonate<br />
in Sample 27, taken from the impasto decoration of the geometric<br />
border. Likewise, a proteinaceous component was identified in a layer of calcium<br />
carbonate applied beneath a resinous mordant for gold leaf in Sample<br />
30, from the halo of the angel in the Entombment.<br />
Instrumental analysis of the media of comparable wall <strong>paintings</strong> is rare, but it<br />
is significant that, where available, it indicates similar findings. For instance,<br />
in the <strong>paintings</strong> (ca. 1130) of Idensen (Lower Saxony), the presence of a<br />
proteinaceous binding medium is associated with blue and green pigments,<br />
while in the scheme (ca. 1130) in St. Gabriel's Chapel, Canterbury Cathedral,<br />
both linseed oil and protein have recently been identified as part of the<br />
original technique (13, 14).<br />
Application. The presence of a sinopia, and the application of the into naco in<br />
overlapping patches, indicate that the primary binding mechanism for the<br />
pigments was the carbonation of calcium hydroxide from the lime plaster;<br />
that is, at least the preliminary drawing and initial pigment layers were applied<br />
a fresco. However, the stratigraphy of the final painting is remarkably complex<br />
and varies substantially across the pictorial surface, from thin single layers<br />
applied directly on the lime plaster substrate to paint applied in considerable<br />
impasto, often over colored grounds (Table 1). In Sample 24, a single layer,<br />
just 30 f.Lm thick, of yellow iron oxide combined with umber and a few<br />
charcoal black particles has been applied directly to the white plaster substrate.<br />
Layers such as this are likely to have been applied a fresco. For areas of flesh<br />
painting, multiple layers have been applied to produce complex effects of<br />
modeling. In Sample 7, the mid-dark flesh tone has been produced by the<br />
application of five different layers of earth pigments-green, red, and yellowapplied<br />
either singly or in combination, often with the addition of lime white<br />
and charcoal black. Here, carbonation of the lime white pigment provides<br />
additional binding capacity within the complex layer structure. By contrast,<br />
red lead combined with an additional proteinaceous binding medium was<br />
applied in a layer some 200 f.Lm thick for the decorative motifs on the central<br />
border, over a thin layer of carbon black applied directly to the lime plaster.<br />
96<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Gilding. Gold leaf was applied for a small number of particular features such<br />
as halos and the decorative borders of drapery. Two samples were taken to<br />
establish the gilding technique; in both cases, analysis by FTIR indicated that<br />
a resinous mordant was used to adhere the gold leaf. The supporting layer<br />
consists of calcium carbonate combined with a protein, probably glue. At 5<br />
jJ.m, the gold leaf is exceptionally thick, more than twice that found at Idensen<br />
(1-2 jJ.m) where it was applied over a "bole" of lead white and carbon<br />
black bound with prepolymerized linseed oil (15).<br />
Fading oj the lake pigment. Although the susceptibility of red lakes to fa ding<br />
was known in the Middle Ages, they were nonetheless often used in wall<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> (16). The key factor in the fading of lake pigments is exposure to<br />
ultraviolet radiation, and, indeed, a darker pink is apparent where fresh losses<br />
have occurred in linear details overlaying Nicodemus's drapery. Lake pigment<br />
mixed with white, applied over a white ground and unprotected by a glaze<br />
(i.e., the Holy Sepulchre Chapel <strong>paintings</strong>), is particularly vulnerable to internal<br />
reflection (17).<br />
Alteration oj vivianite. Initial identification of the pigment by polarized light<br />
microscopy, in which the pigment is typified by blue-yellow pleochroism<br />
every 90°, was confirmed by X-ray diffraction (18, 19). In recent years, vivianite<br />
has been identified in medieval painting in Germany, as on the Romanesque<br />
lectern at Freudenstadter (ca. 1150) where it was applied over a<br />
gray ground of lead white combined with carbon black (20). In the context<br />
of English medieval polychromy, a preliminary identification of the mineral<br />
has been made on an Anglo-Saxon stone sculpture from York (21).<br />
Vivianite occurs naturally in two discrete environments. It is fo und in the<br />
oxidized upper layers of some metalliferous ore deposits, as at St. Agnes in<br />
Cornwall, where it generally appears as dark indigo, blue-black, or green<br />
crystals (22). It is also fo und in organic, phosphate-rich environments, and is<br />
frequently associated with bones, decaying wood, and other organic remains.<br />
Vivianite is generally stable and dark blue or green in color, though the<br />
mineral may be colorless when initially exposed (23).<br />
It seems likely that in the medieval period vivianite was used only where the<br />
mineral was locally available; thus, mineral deposits are well known in Germany.<br />
Good crystalline deposits of the mineral have been found at Whale<br />
Chine on the Isle of Wight, and in its earthy form at Fordingbridge in Hampshire,<br />
both close to Winchester (24). Current work on samples from the<br />
chapel includes an analysis of trace elements and examination of the crystalline<br />
structure to determine whether a mined or peaty alluvial deposit was<br />
the source of the mineral.<br />
Vivianite is known to be generally stable in its blue fo rm but at Winchester<br />
some of the particles have altered to a yellow color, giving an overall green<br />
effect. The mineral's color change from colorless to blue on initial exposure<br />
is due to increased ferric ion concentrations, and it has been established that<br />
mechanical grinding of the colorless crystals, heating in air, storage in a vacuum,<br />
or chemical treatment of samples can produce a more rapid conversion<br />
from ferrous to ferric ions, and so to a blue color (25, 26). It is therefore<br />
interesting to speculate whether grinding of the blue mineral to produce a<br />
particle size suitable fo r use as a pigment may have contributed to an additional<br />
increase in ferric ion concentration and ultimately to a further color<br />
alteration from blue to yellow.<br />
Technique of the thirteenth-century <strong>paintings</strong><br />
Invasive conservation interventions-including waxing, facing with glue for<br />
detachment, thinning of the original plaster support, consolidation, and cleaning-have<br />
compromised the results of the technical examination of these<br />
<strong>paintings</strong>. Nevertheless, certain conclusions can be drawn.<br />
Plaster. Following the keying of the twelfth-century painting, a single layer<br />
of plaster approximately 5-8 mm thick was applied to the surface. This<br />
Howard 97
Fi,RlIre 3. This thirteellth-cel1tury pailltil1,R, ori,Ril1aily 011 the east wall, has beel1 transferred to al/. artificial slIpport at the west el1d of the chapel.<br />
Photo,Rraph collrtesy of the COllServatioll of Wall PaintilJ,R Department, Courtauld [llStitllte of Art, Londoll.<br />
98 Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Winchester Cathedral<br />
Holy Sepulchre Chapel<br />
Jo<br />
tOO em<br />
West Wall<br />
I2J P<br />
laster Joins<br />
Figure 4. Diagralll of the thirteenth-century east schenle (now tral1sferred to the west el/d), showil/g the positiol/ of plaster joil/s. Diagralll col/rtesy<br />
of the COIIServatiol1 of Wall Painting Departlllent, Courtauld Institl/te
plaster consists of lime combined with an aggregate of subangular quartz in<br />
a ratio of 1:3. It is generally more yellow and less well prepared than the<br />
plaster for the earlier decoration, with large lumps of unmixed calcium carbonate<br />
clearly visible.<br />
It is now difficult to establish the sequence of application of the plaster, since<br />
surface features have been completely flattened by the detachment process<br />
(Figs. 3, 4) . Examination under raking light of the surface of the east wall<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> (now transferred to the west end) does, however, indicate that plaster<br />
joins may originally have run along the upper edge of the central border and<br />
the lower horizontal of the cross in the upper register. This indicates that<br />
generally the plaster may have been applied in broad horizontal bands, roughly<br />
corresponding to scaffold lifts. However in the east recess of the south wall<br />
there appears to be a vertical join between the Harrowing of Hell and Noli me<br />
Tangere, suggesting that in this area at least a fu rther division was considered<br />
necessary.<br />
Preparatory techniques. A preparatory sketch in red iron earth was used to set<br />
out the main features of the composition. Unlike the twelfth-century painting<br />
wherein both a sinopia and then fu rther preparatory drawing on the final<br />
plaster layer exist, in the thirteenth-century scheme the preparatory drawing<br />
is confined to the final plaster layer.<br />
Direct incisions into the plaster are also clearly visible, such as the fine, sharp<br />
incisions that outline the curls in the hair of the figure at far right in the<br />
Entombment and the hair of St. John in the Deposition.<br />
Pentimenti. An interesting alteration discovered during the detachment process-and<br />
presumably visible on the reverse of the thinned plaster layer-was<br />
that above the horizontal arm of the cross in the Deposition was a sketch fo r<br />
the sun and moon, which are symbols more usually associated with the Crucifixion<br />
(27).<br />
Pigments. The present research has established that the original palette included:<br />
natural ultramarine (3Na20·3Al203·6Si02·2Na2S); vivianite (Fe3 +<br />
2[P04L'8H20); copper chloride green; cinnabar (HgS); hematite (Fe203); yellow<br />
iron oxide (Fe203'H20); lead white (2PbC03·Pb[OHl2); lime white<br />
(CaC03); charcoal black (C).<br />
Binding media. The inclusion of lead pigments in the palette makes highly<br />
likely the incorporation of organic binding media as part of the original<br />
technique but, owing to the previous conservation interventions, it was not<br />
possible to confirm their presence.<br />
Application. Preliminary drawing in red ochre was followed by blocking in of<br />
the basic background colors. Oakeshott considered that the powerful black<br />
outlines, which are such a major feature of the scheme, were also painted at<br />
this stage and were thus more firmly bound by the carbonation of the plaster<br />
(28). The stratigraphy is remarkably simple, with one or at most two paint<br />
layers applied directly to the plaster (Tables 2, 3, 4, 5). In some cases the final<br />
paint layer was applied in thick impasto, and it seems likely that here an<br />
additional binding medium was used.<br />
Pigment alteration. Although the background colors of the scheme are now<br />
red and green, it seemed much more likely on the basis of comparisons with<br />
other <strong>paintings</strong> of the period that red and blue would originally have been<br />
used. Analysis indicated that this was indeed the case: the present green color<br />
is due to the alteration of some of the original blue pigment (vivianite) to<br />
form a yellow alteration product.<br />
The alteration of a lead pigment is evident in the fo rm of black spots on the<br />
paint surface throughout the scheme, and analysis confirmed the presence of<br />
a dark red/brown lead-based material. In wall <strong>paintings</strong> elsewhere where this<br />
type of alteration occurs, the alteration product has been found to be plattnerite<br />
(lead dioxide) (29). In the Holy Sepulchre Chapel however, analysis by<br />
100<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
scanning electron microscopy I energy dispersive spectroscopy (SEM/EDX)<br />
analysis indicated a low oxygen peak, which may indicate that a mixture of<br />
lead dioxide and lead sulfide is present here. In addition, cinnabar has altered<br />
to its dark form, metacinnabar, as shown in Sample 37, taken from the darkened<br />
cheek patch of a prophet on the vault.<br />
Acknowledgments<br />
I am grateful to the Leverhulme Trust for their generosity in funding the five-year<br />
study, and to the Skaggs Foundation for their support of the conservation program<br />
at Winchester. Particular thanks are also due to G. Cressey and P. Tandy of the Natural<br />
History Museum, and to David Park, Sharon Cather, and Robyn Pender of the<br />
Conservation of Wall Painting Department, Courtauld Institute of Art.<br />
Table 1.<br />
Samples Jrom the east wall oj the Holy Sepulchre Chapel, Winchester Cathedral<br />
Sample No:<br />
3<br />
Location and Description<br />
E. wall, upper tier, S. side, olive green<br />
background to left of Nicodemus' foot.<br />
Original Polychromy<br />
• vivianite 20llm<br />
• natural ultramarine 30llm<br />
Indications of binding medialPigment<br />
alterations and other additions<br />
• vivianite has partially altered from blue to yellow<br />
________ <br />
-- <br />
-- <br />
-- <br />
-- <br />
--. I ;m e p I t er w ; il i c ha r o o al b la ck ;n cl us ;o n ; s =. 40 O m <br />
<br />
<br />
-- <br />
----------__________<br />
- E. wall, upper tier, S. side, red background<br />
5<br />
6<br />
7<br />
8<br />
9<br />
10<br />
21<br />
22<br />
adjacent to cross, red over blue.<br />
E. wall, upper tier, N. side, uppermost edge of<br />
Joseph of Aramathea's hat, grey surface over red<br />
pigment on blue.<br />
E. wall, upper tier, N. side, Joseph of<br />
Aramathea's red drapery, translucent dark red<br />
shadow just below beard.<br />
E. wall, upper tier, Christ's right fOOl, mid-dark<br />
flesh tone.<br />
E. wall, upper tier, Nicodemus' pink drapery, at<br />
hip level, pale pink with highlight.<br />
E. wall, lower tier, N. side, Joseph of<br />
Aramathea's red robe, darkest red tone at uppermost<br />
edge.<br />
E. wall, lower tier, N. side, Christ's proper hand,<br />
flesh painting with pink drop of blood on<br />
surface.<br />
E. wall, lower tier, Harrowing a/Hell, deep<br />
purple shadow in drapery.<br />
E. wall, lower tier, Harrowing of Hell, green<br />
outer drapery (query modem retouching).<br />
• cinnabar in red lead matrix with a f e w particles of natural ultramarine • calcium carbonate crust on surface<br />
220J,lm<br />
• natural ultramarine 30llm<br />
- cinnabar IOllm<br />
• natural ultramarine and charcoal black in a lime white matrix 10llm<br />
• lime plaster with charcoal black inclusions 250m<br />
• haematite 20m<br />
• yellow iron oxide 2m<br />
• trace calcium carbonate<br />
• cinnabar 551lm<br />
• lime plaster! OOm<br />
• red, yeUow and green iron oxides and charcoal black 10m<br />
• green iron oxide 45 m<br />
- lime white combined with yellow iron oxide IOOllm<br />
• yellow iron oxide 25).101<br />
• red iron earth 50).1m<br />
• trace I ime plaster<br />
• red lake with a trace of ultramarine in a calcium carbonate matrix<br />
100).1m. The trace of calcium sulphate present in the layer may<br />
represent the substrate of the lake pigment, now faded.<br />
• plaster substrate with charcoal black 80).1m<br />
• cinnabar 30l1m<br />
• yellow iron oxide IOl1m<br />
• plaster substrate with a few charcoal black inclusions 200l1m<br />
• cinnabar 20l1m<br />
• trace yellow iron oxide<br />
• green iron oxide 4511m<br />
• lime white with yellow iron oxide particles 100l1m<br />
• lime white, yellow iron oxide and charcoal black 60l1m<br />
• natural ultramarine, charcoal black and lime white 90l1m<br />
• lime white 40l1m<br />
• plaster substrate 200Jlm<br />
• red lake pigment has faded<br />
• cobalt green (CoO'nZnO)<br />
23<br />
24<br />
25<br />
26<br />
E. wall, lower tier, lower edge of sarcophagus,<br />
deep purple over yellow.<br />
E. wall, lower tier, Christ's loin cloth, yellow<br />
shadow over deep yellow.<br />
E. wall, upper tier, Magdalene's drapery, hem at<br />
calf level, yellow & white bole over red/purple<br />
and black paint layers.<br />
E. wall, upper tier, Nicodemus' cloak, blue and<br />
white vair lining, green area over blue.<br />
27 E. wall, central decorative border, 4th circular<br />
motif from north side, impasto motif in orange<br />
28<br />
29<br />
30<br />
31<br />
32<br />
and white.<br />
E. wall, upper tier, Nicodemus' right proper leg ,<br />
brilliant rich red highlight over red lead and<br />
yellow earth.<br />
E. wall, upper tier, wavy ground between<br />
Nicodemus' legs, deep red brown over pink.<br />
E. wall, lower tier, censing angel, halo. trace<br />
gilding on bole over brown paint layer and red<br />
lead.<br />
E. wall, lowertier, N. side, angel's drapery,<br />
green over yellow near hem.<br />
E. wall, upper tier, N. side, grey/green<br />
background between legs of Joseph of<br />
Aramathea.<br />
• charcoal black, redlbrown iron oxides with a few particles of cinnabar<br />
80/1m<br />
• yeJlow iron oxide combined with lime white 90l1m<br />
• plaster substrate l20/1m<br />
• yellow iron oxide and umber with a few charcoal black particles 30/1m<br />
• plaster substrate 100)1m<br />
• resinous layer 50)1m<br />
• white layer (calcium carbonate + protein) 30)1m<br />
• resinous layer lOO).lm<br />
• white layer (calcium carbonate + protein) 20/1m<br />
• resinous layer 100llm<br />
- vivianite in calcium carbonate matrix 90l1m<br />
• natural ultramarine in lime matrix 100J.lm<br />
• plaster substrate 300).lm<br />
• red lead combined with lead white and calcium carbonate with a trace<br />
of proteinaceous binding medium present 200).lm<br />
• carbon black 10/1m<br />
• cinnabar combined with red lead 50).lm<br />
• red lead IOO/1m<br />
• red iron oxide 15J.lm<br />
• cinnabar 10).lm<br />
• plaster substrate/ground 400/1m<br />
• underdrawing, red iron oxide and cinnabar IOOllm<br />
• gold leaf5/1m<br />
• resinous mordant 20J.lm<br />
• white layer (calcium carbonate + protein) 10/1m<br />
• dark resinous layer 15/1m<br />
• white layer (calcium carbonate + protein) 20m<br />
• dark resinous layer 25).lm<br />
• green iron oxide combined with some charcoal black particles 50/1m<br />
• yellow iron oxide 75m<br />
• yellow iron oxide combined with lime white 180/1m<br />
• plaster substrate with charcoal black particles 120/1m<br />
• charcoal black with a few red and yellow iron oxide particles 80).lm<br />
• plaster substrate 200llm<br />
• a proteinaceous binding medium is present in the white layers<br />
• vivianite has partially altered from blue to yellow<br />
• translucent crust of calcium carbonate combined with calcium sulphate on<br />
surface<br />
• a proteinaceous binding medium is present in the red paint layer<br />
• white crust on surface<br />
• white crust and trace pigment on surface<br />
• a proteinaceous binding medium is present in the white layers<br />
• trace white crust combined with a few charcoal black particles<br />
The table gives the location where each sample was taken, the sample number. and the stratigraphy of the various layers from the top down,<br />
with the thickness of each layer in microns (pm).<br />
Howard 101
Table 2.<br />
Samples from the vest wall if the Holy Sepulchre Chapel, Winchester Cathedral<br />
Sample No:<br />
34<br />
35<br />
36<br />
Location and Description<br />
W. wall, upper tier, N. side, green background<br />
colour below white scroll.<br />
W. wall. upper tieT, St. John, drapery below<br />
knee, black over pink.<br />
W. wall, upper tier, S. side, (left as viewed) leg<br />
of Joseph of Aramalhea, dark green linear detail<br />
on back of calf.<br />
Original Polychromy<br />
• viviani!e IOOllm<br />
• charcoal black 80llm<br />
• lime plaster substrate 60llm<br />
• darkened lead pigment l5IJm<br />
• lime plaster substrate 250 11m<br />
• vivianite 150JJm<br />
• charcoal black and lime white 40llm<br />
• I ime plaster substrate IOOJJm<br />
• trace of red pigment from 12th century scheme 20JJm<br />
Coatings! Indications of binding media!<br />
Pigment alterations<br />
• beeswax coating containing calcium carbonate and calcium sulphate 20llm<br />
• proteinaceous coaling 30llm<br />
• vivianite has partially altered from blue to yellow<br />
• beeswax (trace)<br />
• proteinaceous coating<br />
• lead pigment has altered to fonn a dark product which appears to be a mixtur<br />
of lead dioxide (plattnerite) and lead sulphide.<br />
• beeswax (trace)<br />
• proteinaceous coating<br />
• vivianite has partially altered from blue to yellow<br />
Table 3.<br />
Samples from the north wall of the Holy Sepulchre Chapel, Winchester Cathedral<br />
Sample No:<br />
11<br />
12<br />
13<br />
14<br />
Location and Description<br />
N. wall, E arch, soffit, E. side, upper figure, left<br />
proper arm, pale pink drapery.<br />
N. wall, E arch, chamfer on S. side, E end, 6th<br />
ashlar block from apex, yellow over green on<br />
plaster.<br />
wall, E arch , S face, E side, C13th vine<br />
scroll in red on plaster.<br />
N. wall, E arch, soffit, E side, lower figure,<br />
thick beige coating over green paint of drapery.<br />
Original Polychromy<br />
• white, lead-containing pigment with charcoal black, calcium carbonate,<br />
calcium sulphate & red pigment particles<br />
• yellow, lead-containing layer which appears white towards perimeter. A<br />
few yellow iron oxide particles are present<br />
• lime ground - calcium carbonate with calcium sulphate and a trace of<br />
wax present<br />
• yellow earth pigment in lead white matrix<br />
• vivianite in lead white matrix<br />
• lime white ground<br />
• red earth<br />
• lime ground<br />
• vivianite in lead white matrix<br />
Coatings! Indications of binding media!<br />
Pigment alterations<br />
• proteinaceous coating<br />
• proteinaceous material is indicated in both paint layers<br />
• vivianite has partially altered from blue to yellow<br />
• beeswax<br />
• proteinaceous coating<br />
• beeswax<br />
• proteinaceous coating<br />
• thick lead white layer<br />
• vivianite has partially altered from blue to yellow<br />
The tables give the location where each sample was taken, the sample number, and the stratigraphy of the various layers from the top down,<br />
with the thickness of each layer in microns (Jim).<br />
Table 4.<br />
Samples from the south wall of the Holy Sepulchre Chapel, Winchester Cathedral<br />
Sample No:<br />
16<br />
17<br />
18<br />
19<br />
20<br />
41<br />
Location and Description<br />
S. wall, E. bay, above recess, blue background<br />
behind donkey's left ear, thick dark impasto<br />
over blue background.<br />
S. wall, W bay, above recess, E. side, old<br />
cleaning test area, coating from in key mark<br />
S. wall, W. bay, above recess, E. side, old<br />
cleaning test area, coating over red! brown paint<br />
layer.<br />
S. wall, W. bay, above recess, W. end, CI2th<br />
angel, area fluoresces in uv, coating over black<br />
and orange paint.<br />
S. wall. W. bay, recess, lower zone, central area<br />
of dark red 'drapery', coating over redlblack<br />
paint.<br />
S. wall, E. bay, above recess, Washing offeer,<br />
bright green from 'border' above Christ's head.<br />
Original Polychromy<br />
• darkened lead pigment 100llm<br />
• natural ultramarine (2Sllm)<br />
• organic analysis only<br />
• carbon black pigment 5J1m<br />
• red earth in lime matrix 10JJm<br />
• lime ground 40).lm<br />
• lime plaster 200llm<br />
• black and red particles in a lead white matiix 351lm<br />
• lime ground l40llm<br />
- lime plaster substrate 400JJm<br />
• red iron oxide 2SIlm<br />
• charcoal black 40llm<br />
• blue/green copper chloride green layer 50llm<br />
• paler blue/green copper chloride layer 50llm<br />
• calcium carbonate with a little calcium sulphate present 20llm<br />
Coatings! Indications of binding media!<br />
Pigment alterations<br />
• proteinaceous material on surface<br />
• lead pigment has altered to fonn a dark product which appears to be a mixture<br />
of lead dioxide (plattnerite) and lead sulphide<br />
• layers of beeswax<br />
• beeswax with a small amount of proteinaceous material<br />
• extremely thin coating present which is almost completely combined with the<br />
upper pigment layer. As yet unidentified<br />
• beeswax<br />
• trace coating on surface<br />
• copper chloride green may be the product of an alteration prOcess<br />
The table gives the location where each sample was taken, the sample number, and the stratigraphy of the various layers from the top down,<br />
with the thickness of each layer in microns (/-un).<br />
Table 5.<br />
Samples from the vault if the Holy Sepulchre Chapel, WiNchester Cathedral<br />
Sample No:<br />
15<br />
37<br />
38<br />
39<br />
40<br />
42<br />
43<br />
44<br />
45<br />
46<br />
Location and Description<br />
Vault, E. bay, E. segment, under left proper<br />
hand of Christ, 'pea' green background of<br />
mandorla.<br />
Vault, E. bay, S. segment, W. side, prophet in<br />
roundel, darkened cheek patch.<br />
Vault, E. bay, S. segment, W. side, prophet in<br />
roundel, yellow flesh painting of hand.<br />
Vault, E. bay, S. segment, W. side, prophet in<br />
roundel, hand, dark flesh area.<br />
Vault, E. bay, W. side, S. segment, prophet in<br />
roundel, left side, dark band around edge of<br />
roundel.<br />
Vault, E. bay, S. segment, W. side, prophet in<br />
roundel, red linear detail of robe over now black<br />
layer.<br />
Vault, E. bay, E. segment, mandorla, S. side,<br />
green border with black on surface.<br />
Vault, E. bay. E. segment, S. side, green<br />
background below Christ's hand, white<br />
decorative spot over green.<br />
Vault, E. bay, E. segment, mandorla, S. side,<br />
green over red.<br />
Vault, E. bay, E. segment, mandorla, N. side,<br />
brilliant green of border.<br />
Original Polychromy<br />
• vivianite 75JJm<br />
• black (darkened cinnabar) particles in lead white matrix ISllm<br />
• plaster substrate 140llm<br />
• yellow iron oxide 15JJm<br />
• lime white ground 50l1m<br />
• plaster substrate 200llrn<br />
• charcoal black and red iron oxide 40l1m<br />
• lime white ground 100llm<br />
• plaster substrate<br />
• dark red/brown lead-based layer 651lm<br />
• lime white ground 751lm<br />
• red earth 1251lm<br />
• dark redlbrown lead-based material 551lm<br />
• white ground 751lm<br />
• plaster substrate 400llm<br />
• dark red/brown lead-based material 75J.1m<br />
• lime white ground 180llm<br />
• lead white 90l1m<br />
• vivianile 55J.1m<br />
• white layer (calcium carbonate combined with calcium sulphate) 50llm<br />
• trace red pigment<br />
• pale blue/green copper-based layer 351lm<br />
• white ground 751101<br />
• plaster substrate 300llm<br />
Coatings! Indications of binding media!<br />
Pigment alterations<br />
• beeswax<br />
• proteinaceous coating<br />
• vivianite has partially altered from blue to yellow<br />
• proteinaceous coating with additional components of calcium carbonate,<br />
calcium sulphate and a trace of wax 151lm<br />
• cinnabar has altered to its black meta fonn<br />
• proteinaceous coating 10llm<br />
• proteinaceous coating with additional components of calcium carbonate and<br />
calcium sulphate 30JJm<br />
• proteinaceous material has penetrated paint layers<br />
• proteinaceous coating 20llm<br />
• lead pigment has altered to fonn a dark material which appears to be a mixture<br />
of lead dioxide (plattnerite) and lead sulphide<br />
• proteinaceous coating 2SI1m<br />
• lead pigment has altered to fonn a dark material which appears to be a mixture<br />
oflead dioxide (plattnerite) and lead sulphide<br />
• proteinaceous coating IOllm<br />
• lead pigment has altered to fonn a dark material which appears to be a mixtur<br />
of lead dioxide (plattnerite) and lead sulphide<br />
• proteinaceous coating 51lm<br />
• beeswax coating<br />
• proteinaceous material is incorporated in wax coating 351lm<br />
• proteinaceous coating 51lm<br />
The table gives the location where each sample was taken, the sample number, and the stratigraphy of the various layers from the top down,<br />
with the thickness of each layer in microns (Jim).<br />
102 Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Notes<br />
1. Park, D. 1983. The wall <strong>paintings</strong> of the Holy Sepulchre Chapel. In Mediellal Art<br />
and Architecture at Winchester Cathedral. British Archaeological Association Conference<br />
Transactions 1980, VI, 38-62.<br />
2. I am indebted to Stephen Rickerby and the students of the Conservation of<br />
Wall Painting Course, Courtauld Institute, for their observations during the work<br />
in the chapel, and for providing the drawings used in Figures 4 and 6. Previous<br />
investigations of aspects of the <strong>paintings</strong> include: Hluvko, S. 1991. Red piglTlents<br />
in English medieval wall painting; and Howard, H. 1988. Blue pigments in English<br />
medieval wall painting. Diploma dissertations. London: Conservation of<br />
Wall Painting Department, Courtauld Institute of Art, University of London.<br />
3. This scene, previously described as the Raising of Lazarus, was identified by<br />
Christoph Tinzl.<br />
4. Lee, M. 1975. Paintings in the Holy Sepulchre Chapel, Winchester. Unpublished<br />
M.A. report, University of London.<br />
5. For the role of organic additives in plaster, see Sickels, L. 1981. Organics v synthetics:<br />
their use as additives in mortars. In Mortars, Cements and Grouts Used in<br />
the Conservation of Historic Buildings . Rome: International Centre fo r the Study<br />
of the Preservation and Restoration of Cultural Property, 25-49.<br />
6. Deeply undulating surfaces occur in other Romanesque <strong>paintings</strong>, such as the<br />
scheme of ca. 1130 in St. Gabriel's Chapel, Canterbury Cathedral. See Cather,<br />
S., and H. Howard. 1994. Romanesque wall <strong>paintings</strong> in the apse of St. Gabriel's<br />
Chapel, Canterbury Cathedral: their technique, condition and environment reassessed.<br />
Arbeitslufte zur Denkmalpfiege in Niedersachsen (1 1):143.<br />
7. See Rickerby, S. 1990. Kempley: A technical examination of the Romanesque<br />
wall <strong>paintings</strong>. In Early Medieval Wall Painting and Painted Sculpture in England.<br />
Ed. S. Cather, et al. Oxford: BAR British Series 219, 249-261; Howard, H. 1992.<br />
All Saints' Church, Witley, Surrey: scientific examination of the Romanesque<br />
wall <strong>paintings</strong>. Unpublished report. London: Conservation of Wall Painting Department,<br />
Courtauld Institute of Art, University of London; Cather and Howard,<br />
op. cit. (note 6).<br />
8. These patches were mapped in the 1980s by the Canterbury Cathedral Wallpainting<br />
Workshop.<br />
9. Kupfer, M. 1986. Les fresques romanes de Vicq: E tude technique. Bulletin Monumental<br />
144:98-132.<br />
10. Park, op. cit., 40.<br />
11. Mairinger, F., and M. Schreiner. 1986. Deterioration and preservation of Carolingian<br />
and medieval wall <strong>paintings</strong> in the Mlistair Convent. Part II: Materials<br />
and rendering of the Carolingian wall <strong>paintings</strong>. In Case Studies in the Conserl!ation<br />
of Stone and Wall Paintings. Ed. N. S. Bronmlelle, et al. London: International<br />
Institute fo r the Conservation of Historic and Artistic Works, 195-96.<br />
12. Ultramarine was the mineral blue normally employed in Romanesque wall<br />
<strong>paintings</strong>, though azurite has been identified at Kempley (Rickerby, op. cit., 256)<br />
and Marslet, Denmark (Graebe, H., K. Trampedach, and M. Jensen. 1986. Kalkmalerierne<br />
i Marslet Kirke. National museete Arbejdsmark 23:164-82).<br />
13. Matteini, M., and A. Moles. 1994. Mural <strong>paintings</strong> in Wunstorf-Idensen: Chemical<br />
investigations on <strong>paintings</strong>, materials and techniques. Arbeitschifte zur Denkmalpfiege<br />
in Niedersachsen 11:85-86.<br />
14. Cather and Howard, op. cit., 144-46.<br />
15. Matteini and Moles, op. cit., 85.<br />
16. Cennino Cennini. II Libro Dell'Arte: The Craftsman's Handbook. 1933. Translated<br />
by D. V. Thompson. New Haven, 26.<br />
17. The acceleration of the rate of fading over time, due to an increased proportion<br />
of white, has been shown experimentally fo r a lake mixed with white, and for<br />
a lake used as a glaze over a white ground. See Johnston-Feller, R., and C. W<br />
Bailie. 1982. An analysis of the optics of paint glazes: fa ding. In Science and Technology<br />
in the Service of Conserl/ation. Ed. N. S. Brommelle, et al. London: International<br />
Institute for Conservation of Historic and Artistic Works, 180-85.<br />
18. Faye, G. H., P. G. Manning, and E. H. Nickel. 1968. The polarized optical absorption<br />
spectra of tourmaline, cordierite, chloritoid and vivianite: ferrous-ferric<br />
electronic interaction as a source of pleochroism. The American Mineralogist (53):<br />
1174-201.<br />
19. I am grateful to Dr. G. Cressey of the Natural History Museum for carrying out<br />
analysis by X-ray diffraction using a Debye-Scherrer camera. The possible ad-<br />
Howard 103
ditional presence of metavivianite (a polymorph of vivianite) was indicated by<br />
this analysis.<br />
20. Richter, E. L. 1988. Seltene pigmente im Mittelalter. Zietschrift Jur Kunsttechnologie<br />
und Konservierung 2 (1):171-77.<br />
21. J. Darrah. 1987. Personal communication. Victoria & Albert Museum, London.<br />
22. Mineral deposits are fo und in England, France, Germany, Italy, Portugal, Serbia,<br />
and the Ukraine, as well as in the United States and elsewhere. I am grateful to<br />
Mr. Peter Tandy of the Natural History Museum, London for providing this<br />
information and for guiding me through the extensive range of samples in the<br />
collection. I am also indebted to Dr. Brian Young of the British Archaeological<br />
Survey for his enthusiastic interest and informed opinion on the provenance of<br />
the mineral.<br />
23. Watson, T. L. 1918. The color change in vivianite and its effect on the optical<br />
properties. The American Mineralogist 3 (8): 159-61.<br />
24. P. Tandy. 1994. Personal corrununication. Natural History Museum, London.<br />
25. Following initial exposure of the colourless mineral, oxidation of one of the<br />
paired ferrous ions may occur at the surface and along crystal cleavages. The<br />
resulting intervalency charge transfer between the paired ions (now Fe2+ and<br />
Fe3+) produces a blue color. Cressey, G. 1994. Personal communication. Natural<br />
History Museum, London.<br />
26. Hanzel, D., W Meisel, 0. Hanzel, and P. Glitlich. 1990. Mossbauer effect study<br />
of the oxidation of vivianite. Solid State Communications 76 (3):307-10.<br />
27. This information was kindly provided by Mr. David Perry and published by<br />
Park, op. cit.<br />
28. Oakeshott, W. 1981. The <strong>paintings</strong> of the Holy Sepulchre Chapel. Winchester<br />
Cathedral Record 50, plate 98a.<br />
29. Welford, P. 1991. Investigation of the phenomenon of dark flesh areas in English<br />
medieval wall painting. Diploma diss. London: Conservation of Wall Painting<br />
Department, Courtauld Institute of Art, University of London.<br />
104<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Abstract<br />
It is rare for ancient external paint<br />
to survive the English climate, particularly<br />
in the original location of<br />
the paint. It is vital that evidence of<br />
color be documented, and studied<br />
current recognition of this need has<br />
created opportunities to survey<br />
the fabric of important historic<br />
buildings for evidence of paint.<br />
Analysis of paint fragments fo und on<br />
the richly sculpted west front of Exeter<br />
Cathedral has revealed evidence<br />
of a magnificent polychromy on<br />
both architecture and sculpture, giving<br />
vital information on fourteenthand<br />
fifteenth-century materials and<br />
techniques. A similar investigation on<br />
the west front of Salisbury Cathedral<br />
has just commenced. An initial look<br />
at surviving evidence of polychromy<br />
enables some comparisons to be<br />
made, in addition to other relevant<br />
examples.<br />
The Polychromy of Exeter and Salisbury Cathedrals:<br />
A Preliminary Comparison<br />
Eddie Sinclair<br />
10 Park Street<br />
Crediton<br />
Devon EX17 3EQ<br />
United Kingdom<br />
Introduction<br />
There has been in recent years an increasing awareness of the historic importance<br />
and vital role of color in medieval architecture, as there is at last<br />
recognition that our ancient buildings, and not just the artifacts within them,<br />
were painted as an integral part of their overall design.<br />
The Reformation in England in the sixteenth century resulted in the destruction<br />
or obliteration of much polychromy. Where any evidence of color still<br />
exists it is frequently only fragmentary, but those fragments retain much valuable<br />
information.<br />
Conservation work on the west-front image screen of Exeter Cathedral carried<br />
out from 1979 to 1984 revealed much evidence of a rich polychromy<br />
in the form of paint fragments surviving in the most sheltered corners of<br />
both architecture and sculpture. Although the study of this polychromy is<br />
discussed in detail elsewhere, the establishment of a large archive of paint<br />
samples has created an invaluable resource that can be used with other emerging<br />
fragmentary evidence (1, 2). As well as providing useful reference material,<br />
these samples contain much information not yet explored that future similar<br />
proj ects may yet discover (3) .<br />
The work on the Exeter polychromy, while not the first English cathedral to<br />
receive such attention, was on an unprecedented scale (4). As conservation<br />
work is carried out on more cathedrals and other important buildings in<br />
England, investigations into the color become a vital element of the work<br />
undertaken. Similar investigations in other European countries have provided<br />
a wealth of detailed information, summarized by Rossi-Manaresi and more<br />
recently by Brodrick (5, 6). Each cathedral adds its own invaluable evidence<br />
to the complex picture of materials, techniques, and workshop practice of<br />
medieval times.<br />
With conservation work due to commence on the west front of Salisbury<br />
Cathedral in winter 1994, an inspection fo r polychromy was requested. A<br />
preliminary investigation with access to only part of the facade has shown<br />
evidence of color. Some analysis has been carried out to date, with further<br />
work anticipated in 1995.<br />
Exeter Cathedral west front<br />
Figure 1. Exeter Cathedral, west front,<br />
showing image screen. Photograph courtesy of<br />
the Cathedral of St. Peter in Exeter.<br />
The west-front image screen of Exeter Cathedral dates from the fourteenthand<br />
fifteenth-centuries, although much of the crenellated parapet and some<br />
portions of the architectural elements, along with six sculptures and the heads<br />
of four others, have been replaced over the years (Fig. 1). Most of the fabric<br />
is built from Beer stone, a local compact, close-grained limestone.<br />
Much vital information on the materials and techniques of the medieval<br />
period are provided in the Exeter Cathedral fabric accounts for the period<br />
1279-1353 (7, 8). Although the fabric accounts are missing for most of the<br />
period during which the west front was being constructed and decorated,<br />
they provide a wealth of information relating to the polychromed bosses of<br />
the high vault which, combined with an examination of the fabric discussed,<br />
Sinclair 105
enhances our picture of the working process (9). This, too, can be of immense<br />
value for comparative purposes with the west front.<br />
Much of the west front of Salisbury Cathedral (Fig. 2) was restored in the<br />
nineteenth century, when most of the empty niches were filled with new<br />
sculpture. Only portions of eight sculptures derive from the original scheme<br />
of 1245-1260, which may never have been completed. The majority of architectural<br />
and all of the ornamental and sculptural stonework on Salisbury's<br />
west front is constructed of the local Chilmark stone, a sandy limestone. With<br />
much of the stone weathered and covered in lichen, it is not always immediately<br />
apparent whether the fabric is original or replacement. Unfortunately,<br />
while there is documentation for much of the restoration work, there appears<br />
to be none recording the original fabric.<br />
Figure 2. Salisbury Cathedral, west front.<br />
Photograph courtesy rif the Courtauld Institute<br />
rif Art.<br />
A preliminary inspection for paint on the facade revealed evidence only on<br />
the moldings above the lower register figures on the north face of the north<br />
turret, the most protected part of the west front (Fig. 3). More evidence of<br />
paint may become apparent as cleaning commences on the west front in 1995.<br />
The inspection for paint extended into the sheltered central porch where,<br />
again, much of the fabric is from the nineteenth century. On the tympanum,<br />
however, the medieval surfaces that have remained are in areas still thickly<br />
painted, with ample evidence of a magnificent polychromy (Fig. 4) . The only<br />
original carving is that of four heads at the apex of the tympanum; they are<br />
particularly well protected and retain paint on their hair, beards, and eyes.<br />
An examination of the roof bosses in the west walk of Salisbury cloister,<br />
which date from 1263-1270, also reveals evidence of color though here the<br />
paint is extensive, with some bosses retaining almost all their color. While<br />
their polychromy cannot be seen as part of the same scheme as that of the<br />
west front and central porch it serves as valuable additional reference material,<br />
as well as an important surviving fact in its own right.<br />
Figure 3. Salisbury Cathedral, north face rif<br />
north turret, lower register. Evidence rif paint<br />
was found 011 the moldings above the figures.<br />
Photograph courtesy of Dean and Chapter,<br />
Salisbury Cathedral.<br />
Figure 4. Salisbury Cathedral central porch,<br />
ly,upauul11. Photograph courtesy rif Dean and<br />
Chapter, Salisbury Cathedral.<br />
Paint samples were taken from all three locations at Salisbury to analyze the<br />
type of pigments and binding media used by the medieval painters. These<br />
analyses are still in progress and much remains to be done. Further evidence<br />
may yet come to light that will alter current perception of the preliminary<br />
results.<br />
Salisbury polychrorny<br />
Although the scarcity of evidence of paint on the west-front facade makes it<br />
rather premature to talk of differences or similarities, a preliminary examination<br />
of the paint from all three locations immediately reveals a difference<br />
in technique (Fig. 5).<br />
Those west-front samples examined thus far show the existence of a thick<br />
white ground with a single, colored layer on top (Fig. Sa), while those from<br />
the cloister bosses show a thin, translucent white ground with one or two<br />
colored layers on top and extensive use of gilding, which may also bear painted<br />
decoration (Fig. Sb). By comparison those from the central porch display<br />
a more complex structure (Fig. Sc), with some samples exhibiting up to fifteen<br />
layers and several re<strong>paintings</strong>, often resulting in a change of color, with the<br />
use of a red earth primer, liberal applications of white lead and a broad range<br />
of colors (Plate 21). Presumably the paint was reapplied whenever it started<br />
to look shabby; there are three layers of gilding on the beard of one of the<br />
carved heads. Samples examined thus far from the cloister bosses show no<br />
evidence of repainting.<br />
Although more paint may yet be discovered on Salisbury west front, current<br />
results indicate several possibilities. If the sculptural scheme was left unfinished,<br />
perhaps only isolated, completed areas were painted. Alternatively, the scheme<br />
may have been completed, but left largely unpainted due to lack of funds.<br />
Weathering and human intervention may have caused loss of most of the<br />
106<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Sa. Location : Salisbury west front,<br />
north face of north turret.<br />
Sb. Location : Salisbury, cloister boss.<br />
2.Smm<br />
I. White ground<br />
2. Iron-oxide red<br />
,, <br />
I<br />
lmm<br />
1. White ground<br />
2. Yellow ochre, gold size?<br />
3. Gold leaf<br />
4. Black decoration<br />
Sc. Location : Salisbury central porch,<br />
tym panum .<br />
Sd. Location : Exeter west front,<br />
drapery of king.<br />
2.Smm<br />
. <br />
I<br />
l.Smm<br />
Multi-layered sample, with<br />
1. Red earth primer,<br />
2. White lead undercoat,<br />
3. Vermilion top layer and several<br />
re<strong>paintings</strong> of primer, white lead<br />
and vermilion.<br />
1. Pi nk primer<br />
2. White lead<br />
3. Vermilion<br />
4. Black cement layer<br />
Figure 5. Paint cross sections: a prelimillary view.<br />
paint, but protected corners usually retain odd fragments, as was fo und on<br />
the north return.<br />
At this point in the investigation, the discovery of the existence of paint in<br />
just one area on Salisbury west front could be the result of a poor technique.<br />
The careful preparation of the stone with appropriate sealant, primer, and<br />
ground played a major role in the durability of the paint layers above. The<br />
initial examination of the north turret samples at Salisbury suggests that the<br />
white ground is of a chalk and gesso type, and not very tough, though it is<br />
thick and would have provided a smooth surface for the paint. Its softness<br />
suggests a loss of medium, though the lack of evidence so far for paint elsewhere<br />
may be due to a poor choice of medium.<br />
Visual analysis, largely through the study of cross sections at this stage, reveals<br />
a typical medieval palette, with a liberal use of costly exotic pigments, particularly<br />
in the central porch. Pigments here include vermilion, verdigris and<br />
copper resinate greens, black (probably lamp black), red and white lead, a dark<br />
blue that appears to be indigo, red and yellow ochre, and gold leaf. The<br />
cloister pigments include red and yellow iron oxide, black, gold leaf, a cool<br />
blue-green and a calcium carbonate white. No lead pigments have yet been<br />
identified here. Only two pigments, red and yellow ochre (with a chalky<br />
white layer below), have been identified on the west-front facade.<br />
Exeter polychromy<br />
That any paint survives at Exeter, in spite of several major cleaning programs,<br />
must be due to a careful selection of superior quality materials (Fig. Sd) with<br />
abundant use of durable red and white lead. Most samples are well bound,<br />
though migrating salts and some loss of medium cause some paint to delaminate.<br />
A typical sample from Exeter west front has-on top of an invisible sealanta<br />
red earth primer followed by a pale pink primer consisting of iron-oxide<br />
red, chalk, white and red lead, all in varying proportions (Plate 22). On top<br />
Sinclair 107
of this, a lead white undercoat provides a tough resistant layer, often also used<br />
to enhance the colored layer above, which may in turn be covered with a<br />
glaze color.<br />
Techniques: Salisbury and Exeter<br />
Although the structure of the Exeter west-front samples in no way resembles<br />
that of the samples from Salisbury west front, there is a greater similarity to<br />
those samples from the central porch, where a similar range of pigments are<br />
combined with a complex layer structure. The presence of white lead in the<br />
porch at Salisbury will have played some part in the survival of the paint<br />
there.<br />
The use of three different techniques, apparent even at this early stage of the<br />
Salisbury investigation, with the indication of two different techniques<br />
operating on the west front, is in keeping with evidence found on other<br />
European cathedrals of a considerable variation in technique existing on<br />
large-scale schemes (10, 11).<br />
The richest colors and effects at Salisbury may have been reserved for the<br />
main doorway, the grand ceremonial entry into the cathedral (12). If less<br />
expensive preparations were used elsewhere, as is suggested by the north turret<br />
evidence, this could explain their disappearance. At Exeter, the evidence of a<br />
rich repainting around the main entry also suggests the important role played<br />
by color in the liturgy of a great church, where the main entry was not<br />
considered complete without its polychromy and was renewed more frequently<br />
than elsewhere (13).<br />
The medium of weathered exterior paint has naturally deteriorated, making<br />
reliable analysis extremely problematic. Both linseed oil and egg tempera appear<br />
to be present in the samples from Exeter west front, either as an emulsion<br />
or to temper different layers. While no media analysis has yet been carried<br />
out on the Salisbury west-front samples, those from the porch appear to be<br />
in an egg tempera medium and those from the cloister in linseed oil. At<br />
Salisbury, however, the usual problems of media analysis are fu rther complicated<br />
by the presence of lichens, algae, bacteria, and also the identification of<br />
wax. A protective coating applied in a previous restoration has left a brownyellow<br />
wrinkled skin over much of the stonework, fu rther complicating anal<br />
YSlS.<br />
With most surviving paint at Exeter found in deep crevices, much of the<br />
detail of the finely carved Beer stone must have been lost, as layers of paint<br />
fill corners of crockets, nostrils, or finely carved hair. The skill of the medieval<br />
painter was to use his craft not merely to paint the carved form, but to<br />
embellish and further enhance it. At times this must have entailed repainting<br />
obscured detail by redefining highlights and shadows to carved hair.<br />
Similarly, the moldings around the tympanum and the carved heads at the<br />
apex in the central porch at Salisbury must have needed picking out in fresh<br />
color, as the corners lost their clarity over the years, with a build-up of paint<br />
particularly thick where different planes meet and overlapping of color occurs.<br />
Where the stone is sound on the west aisle cloister bosses, the carving remains<br />
crisp, as there is no build-up of paint layers to clog up the detail.<br />
The painter did not rely on the play of light alone to give form to the<br />
sculptures, but added depth to hollows with shading or highlights to high<br />
points where paint rarely survives on an exterior. Traces of black in the inner<br />
moldings of the orders around the tympanum at Salisbury show how hollows<br />
were further emphasized by the choice of dark colors. Carvings are thrown<br />
into relief by the background color from which they emerge. Thus, in the<br />
porches at Exeter, the foliage around the doorways, now mostly bare stone,<br />
is defined by the thick traces of indigo still surviving in the corners of the<br />
background.<br />
The painter would add details to carving-even if they would never be seen<br />
by the ordinary viewer-such as the delicate red outline defining the most<br />
108<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
sheltered eye on the southernmost carved head in the porch at Salisbury,<br />
remarkably similar in style to that fo und on one of the polychromed heads<br />
on the cloister bosses.<br />
No metal leaf was found on the facade at Exeter, although the fabric accounts<br />
list the purchase at Christmas 1341 of " gold, silver, and various colors for<br />
painting the image of the blessed Peter" high up in the gable of the west<br />
front (14). Instead there were several occurrences of orpiment where gold<br />
might have been expected, such as on crowns and hats; presumably this was<br />
used elsewhere for reasons of economy.<br />
A reference to "the painting of the bishop in the gable," makes it clear that<br />
the final costly colors and foils were applied in situ (15). As for primings and<br />
earlier preparations, these may have been carried out in the shelter of the<br />
workshop, as was the case with the interior bosses in the crossing, where red<br />
lead priming can be seen disappearing into the masonry joints under the<br />
medieval mortar (16). However, recent developments have shown that the<br />
quire bosses must have been totally painted in situ (17). Both practices, therefore,<br />
were possible and were operating at Exeter. Workshop practice at Salisbury<br />
is yet to be explored, though the presence of dirt beneath the lowest<br />
paint layer on the cloister samples suggests that they were left unpainted for<br />
some time.<br />
Conclusion<br />
While it is too soon to draw conclusions about surviving external color at<br />
Salisbury, the discovery of its very existence is important, placed in the context<br />
of a tradition that was soon to disappear from English ecclesiastical buildings,<br />
although it lingered a little longer in a secular context (18). The search for<br />
further evidence of polychromy will continue at Salisbury, along with a more<br />
detailed study of identified paint traces.<br />
It is hoped that evidence of polychromy from Exeter, and now Salisbury,<br />
however fragmentary, can be seen as part of a European Gothic tradition. It<br />
would be interesting to see if a more detailed study reveals any differences in<br />
style to distinguish English architectural polychromy from that of its European<br />
counterparts.<br />
Acknowledgments<br />
I would like to thank the deans and chapters of Salisbury and Exeter Cathedrals for<br />
supporting this research, and all individuals nam.ed in the notes. Recent media analysis<br />
for Salisbury Cathedral was carried out by N. Khandekar of the Hamilton Kerr<br />
Institute. The research is being carried out with the technical support of the Earth<br />
Resources Centre, Exeter University.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Sinclair, E. 1991. The west front polychromy. In Medieval Art and Architecture at<br />
Exeter Cathedral. Ed. F. Kelly. British Archaeological Association, 116-33.<br />
2. Sinclair, E. 1992. Exeter Cathedral: Exterior polychromy. In The Conservator as<br />
Art Historian. Ed. A. Hulbert, et al. London: United Kingdom Institute for Conservation,<br />
7-14.<br />
3. The author, a practicing conservator, carried out this research, with invaluable<br />
help and tuition from Drs. Ashok Roy and Raymond White of The National<br />
Gallery, Josephine Darrah of the Victoria & Albert Museum, Peter Mactaggart,<br />
and Anna Hulbert. However, access to sophisticated analytical equipment and<br />
techniques was limited, and most results are based on the study of cross sections<br />
and dispersions.<br />
4. Conservation work on Wells Cathedral west front, carried out from 1974-1 986,<br />
uncovered extensive evidence of polychromy that will be reported on in Sampson,<br />
J. Wells Cathedral: West front archaeology and conservation. Forthcoming.<br />
5. Rossi-Manaresi, R. 1987. Considerazioni tecniche sulla scultura monumentale<br />
policromata, romanica e gotica. Bollettino d' Arte (41): 173-86.<br />
6. Brodrick, A. 1993. Painting techniques of early medieval sculpture. In Romanesque<br />
Stone Sculpture from Medieval England. 18-27.<br />
Sinclair 109
7. The Accounts of the Fabric of Exeter Cathedral, 1279- 1353. 1981. Part I, 1279-<br />
1326. Ed. A. Erskine. Devon and Cornwall Record Society, 24.<br />
8. The Accounts of the Fabric of Exeter Cathedral, 1279- 1353. 1983. Part II, 1328-<br />
1353. Ed. A. Erskine. Devon and Cornwall Record Society, 26.<br />
9. Hulbert, A. 1991. An examination of the polychromy of Exeter Cathedral roof<br />
bosses, and its documentation. In Medieval Art and Architecture at Exeter Cathedral.<br />
Ed. F. Kelly. British Archaeological Association, 188-98.<br />
10. Rossi-Manaresi, op. cit.<br />
11. Sampson, J. Personal communication. At Wells, three different techniques were<br />
identified by Dr. Roy (National Gallery, London) with the use of either white<br />
lead or gypsum (?) as a ground. The niche in which The Coronation if the Virgin<br />
is situated, above the main west door, retains evidence of the more exotic pigments<br />
on a lead white ground.<br />
12. In a search fo r polychromy during recent work on the west front of Bath Abbey,<br />
Jerry Sampson found that, apart from one isolated fragment elsewhere, the only<br />
paint was in the west door. This may be the result of a poor technique resulting<br />
in almost total disappearance of color, but it suggests again the importance of<br />
the main doorway. See Sampson, J. 1992. Bath Abbey West Front: The History of<br />
the Restorations. Private report. Bath City Council and English Heritage.<br />
13. Rossi-Manaresi, R., and A. Tucci. 1984. The polychromy of the portals of the<br />
gothic cathedral of Bourges. [COM Committee fo r COl1seYilatiol'l preprints, 7th Triennial<br />
Meeting, Copenhagen. During construction of the west front, the south<br />
portal was used as the main entry. Here, twelfth-century carvings, unpainted until<br />
incorporated into the south portal in 1225, were then polychromed in situ,<br />
forming a temporary main entrance. Bourges Cathedral is contemporary with<br />
Salisbury Cathedral.<br />
14. Erskine, 1983. Op. cit., 269.<br />
15. Ibid., 270.<br />
16. Hulbert, op. cit., 192.<br />
17. Hulbert, A. 1994. Personal cOl11l11unication.<br />
18. Sinclair, E. 1990. Appendix: Sampling and analysis of paint traces from the exterior<br />
elevations of the front block. In Exeter Guildhall. S. R. Blaylock. Exeter:<br />
Devon Archaeological Society Proceedings (48): 174-6. Research on the exterior<br />
of Exeter Guildhall revealed a rich polychromy that included azurite, vernlilion,<br />
and gilding, with the earliest layers dating from 1593 to 1594.<br />
110<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Abstract<br />
Extensive examination of Andrea<br />
Mantegna's Adoration of the Magi at<br />
the J. Paul Getty Museum reveals<br />
Mantegna's unusual technique of<br />
painting. Although this painting was<br />
generally described as painted in<br />
tempera or oil, analysis has revealed<br />
the medium to be distemper (animal<br />
glue). The rationale for this technique<br />
is explained here in terms of<br />
aesthetic and environmental constraints<br />
of the fifteenth century as<br />
well as the art-<strong>historical</strong> context of<br />
the period.<br />
Andrea Mantegna's Adoration of the Magi<br />
Andrea Rothe<br />
Department of Paintings Conservation<br />
The J. Paul Getty Museum.<br />
17985 Pacific Coast Highway<br />
Malibu, California<br />
USA<br />
Introduction<br />
In 1985 the J. Paul Getty Museum acquired the Adoration oj the Magi by<br />
Andrea Mantegna (1431-1 506) (Plate 23) . Nothing was known about the<br />
painting until the early nineteenth century, when it was thought to have been<br />
brought to England by Alexander Baring, first Lord Ashburton (1). It was<br />
first shown publicly in London at the Royal Academy in 1871, and then at<br />
New Gallery in 1894; but with few other exceptions, the painting was not<br />
readily accessible. This might explain why it was sometimes confused with a<br />
nineteenth-century copy, now in the Johnson collection in Philadelphia (2) .<br />
The Adoration was shown again in London in 1981 in the exhibition Splendours<br />
of the Gonzaga, and has since been widely accepted as a late work by<br />
Mantegna, dated circa 1495-1505. The composition of this popular subject<br />
must have been much admired, for at least seven copies by other artists survive<br />
(3).<br />
The horizontal composition with five half-length figures placed tightly<br />
around the Christ Child bears resemblance to other works by Mantegna, such<br />
as The Virgin and Child with Saints in the Galleria Sabauda in Turin and The<br />
Presentation in the Temple in the Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. Mantegna seems<br />
to have been the initiator of this type of composition, which inspired Giovanni<br />
Bellini, Cima da Conegliano, and Vincenzo Catena, among others. Remarkable<br />
are the descriptive features and the distinctive skin color of each<br />
individual figure. Noteworthy is Mantegna's foreshortening of the Christ<br />
Child's right leg, which is reminiscent of the Lamentation in the Brera in<br />
Milan. Most of the execution adheres to Mantegna's original composition,<br />
with the exception of the faces of the Virgin and the Christ Child, in which<br />
the X-radiograph shows Mantegna's original reworking or pentimenti<br />
(Fig. 1).<br />
Analysis of painting technique used in the Adoration<br />
In order to properly restore the Adoration, extensive research on the unusual<br />
technique of this painting was necessary. Although the Getty Adoration was<br />
generally described as painted in tempera or oil, recent analysis carried out<br />
by the Getty Conservation Institute has identified the medium as distemper<br />
(animal glue) (4) . Pioneering research done by John Mills of the National<br />
Gallery in London and other experts in the 1970s drew attention to the fact<br />
that this medium was widely used during the Gothic and Renaissance periods<br />
(5). Within the next decade more accurate methods of analysis were developed<br />
(6). The principal reason fo r the lack of more information has been the<br />
difficulty in analytically distinguishing egg from glue, as both are complex<br />
proteins. The analytical results can also be unreliable because infusions of glues<br />
from later relinings and consolidants make it difficult to determine whether<br />
they are part of the original medium.<br />
Throughout the history of painting, the use of glue as a medium has been<br />
quite common, yet very often <strong>paintings</strong> in this medium are classified as tempera<br />
<strong>paintings</strong>, such as the mummy portraits of the late Fayum period (third<br />
century C.E.), which were no longer painted in encaustic, but probably with<br />
a glue medium (7). In Germany and particularly in the Netherlands of the<br />
fifteenth and sixteenth century, thousands of distemper <strong>paintings</strong> were pro-<br />
Rothe 111
Figure 1. X-radiograph of Andrea Mantegna's The Adoration of the Magi. The]. Paul Getty<br />
Museum, Malibu.<br />
FIgure 2. Dierie Bouts, The Annunciation.<br />
Distemper on linen, 90 X 74.5 em. The].<br />
Paul Getty Museum, Malibu (85.PA.24).<br />
duced, including examples by great artists such as Albrecht Durer and Pieter<br />
Brueghel (8) . Some of these that have survived relatively untouched show us<br />
the beauty and brilliance of this medium. Well-preserved examples of this<br />
technique include three <strong>paintings</strong> by Dieric Bouts: (a) the Annunciation in the<br />
collection of the J. Paul Getty Museum, Malibu (Fig. 2); (b) the Resurrection<br />
at the Norton Simon Museum, Pasadena; and (c) the Deposition in the National<br />
Gallery, London (9). Many of these <strong>paintings</strong>, however, have either been<br />
destroyed or severely damaged and altered. The glue renders the paint film<br />
brittle and readily damaged by water; because of the glue's hygroscopic nature,<br />
it attracts dust and candle soot. Consequently, most of these <strong>paintings</strong> suffered<br />
the fate of being varnished in order to "liven up" the colors, thus becoming<br />
oil or varnish <strong>paintings</strong> by absorption. Most of them were destroyed because<br />
they were so fragile, and less than 100 of the above-mentioned Netherlandish<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> have survived (10).<br />
In Italy, however, Andrea Mantegna was the only artist to make extensive use<br />
of this technique. Approximately thirty of his distemper <strong>paintings</strong> have survived.<br />
Mantegna, with some of his fellow painters north of the Alps, must have been<br />
intrigued with the effect of light, or the lack of it, on his <strong>paintings</strong>. In order<br />
to visualize the effect of different media in the same light, we need only look<br />
at an illuminated manuscript in the subdued light of a modern showcase to<br />
marvel at the glowing colors (11). By contrast, it would be practically impossible<br />
to view an oil painting under the same light conditions because of<br />
the deep saturation of the pigments and the different refractive index. Mantegna<br />
probably faced the same dilemma of wanting to create <strong>paintings</strong> with<br />
incredible detail and luminosity that would not lose their visual power due<br />
to lack of light and the distracting reflections caused by a varnished surface.<br />
Because we live today in a technically advanced age in which we can regulate<br />
the light we need, it is difficult to imagine relying on candles and torches.<br />
Yet, until the wide distribution of electricity less than one hundred years ago,<br />
light in a closed environment was scarce. Until the Renaissance, many palaces<br />
and buildings in Italy had only a few small windows; many of Mantegna's<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> were probably destined to be hung in a private bedroom or chapel<br />
in the fortresslike Ducal Palace in Mantua, thus a technique that would not<br />
112<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
create surface gloss and could be viewed in subdued light was ideal. Of all<br />
the techniques, only fresco and distemper have these characteristics and only<br />
distemper, which is more brilliant, gives the artist a limitless time to work<br />
(12). Distemper <strong>paintings</strong> are also light and portable. A letter by Mantegna<br />
to Ludovico Gonzaga, Marquis of Mantua, suggested painting portraits on<br />
fme linen in this technique, as they can be rolled up on a dowel and easily<br />
shipped (13). These advantages and characteristics might explain why Mantegna,<br />
the absolute perfectionist, had such a predilection for distemper.<br />
The animal glue for distemper painting was made from either skins or parchment,<br />
preferably sheep or goat (14). Glue made out of fish bones was also<br />
used; it has been identified in the Cult of Cybele by Mantegna at the National<br />
Gallery in London (15). The glues were prepared and dried into tablets in<br />
the winter to keep them from growing mold. When the glue was needed, it<br />
was first soaked in water and then dissolved in a hot water bath.<br />
Historical methods and recipes<br />
A rather succinct description of the practice of this distemper technique is<br />
given in the so-called Eraclius manuscript. In recipe XXVI of De Coloribus<br />
et Artibus Romanorum, the text states (16):<br />
If you wish to paint on linen cloth, and lay gold upon it, prepare it thus:<br />
Take parchment, or clippings if parchment, and put them in a jar with<br />
water, which must be placed over the f ire and made to boil as before directed;<br />
then dip a cloth into it, take it out immediately, and stretch it out on a<br />
wet panel and let it dry. Then burnish or polish it all over with a glass<br />
muller, and stretch it out, fastening it on to a wooden frame with the<br />
thread. You may then paint upon it with colours distempered with size,<br />
or egg, or gum.<br />
The recipe describes how the cloth was treated to make it less absorbent, so<br />
that the colors would not be soaked into the cloth and spread out. Only such<br />
a pretreated cloth could be painted on with some detail. It is this same property<br />
that is alluded to in Jehan Ie Begue's 1431 recipe compilation Experimenta<br />
de Coloribus (17):<br />
In England the painters work with these waters upon closely woven cloths<br />
[sindone?], wetted with gum water, made with gum arabic and then dried,<br />
and afterwards stretched out on the floor if the soler ... and the painters<br />
... paint upon them figures stories and other things. And because these<br />
cloths lie stretched out on a flat suiface, the coloured waters do not flow or<br />
spread in painting upon them . . . the touches of the paint brush made<br />
with these waters do not spread, because the gum with which, as already<br />
mentioned, the cloth is wetted, prevents their spreading . ...<br />
Glue gels at room temperature, however, making it difficult to use. The difficulties<br />
of keeping the medium in a workable consistency are described in<br />
the De Coloribus Diversis Modis Tractatur in Sequentibus, written in 1398 by<br />
Johannes Alcherius. In a recipe given to Alcherius by the Flemish painter<br />
Jacob Coene, instructions are provided for painting and "laying gold on<br />
parchment, paper, linen cloth, sindone [very fme linen], and on primed wooden<br />
panels. The recipe describes the making of glue out of parchment or cutting<br />
of fine leather: "Lastly, let the size, or sized water be warm; I say warm, lest<br />
it may be conglutinated, ... when it is cold it will be congealed like jelly ..."<br />
(18).<br />
Alcherius continues, "Moreover when using a paintbrush, the colour may be<br />
held in the hand, which by its warmth or heat will not allow it to congeal<br />
... And in painting with a pen, as well as with a paint brush, it is a good<br />
thing to keep the colour over a slow fire of charcoal at such a warmth, that<br />
it may not congeal, but may remain liquid" (19).<br />
The recipe stresses the fact that-in contrast to painting on panel-when<br />
painting on cloth or Tiichlein, the artist should apply paint in several layers<br />
(20):<br />
Rothe 113
On cloth and sindone it is more necessary that this colour should be layd<br />
on twice, wile tempered with size, bi f ore it is put on Jo r the last coat<br />
tempered with white oj egg. And this is because sindone and cloth, owing<br />
to their porosity, are too absorbent, flowing, flexible, and unstable, and<br />
theri f ore soak up the colour, so that there does not remain a good and firm<br />
substance oj colour upon the cloth or sindone, unless, as usi f ul experience<br />
tells us, it is laid on several times.<br />
After the first layer was applied, the surface of the canvas was burnished to<br />
receive the second layer and finally a last layer and gilding (21):<br />
Let those things dry which you have drawn and painted, and when they<br />
are dry burnish them, that is, polish or smooth them gently with a tooth<br />
oj a horse or a boar, or with a polished hard stone fitted Jo r this purpose,<br />
in order that all the roughness may be softened down, ... and again paint<br />
over and draw upon those same places, with this colour, as bi f ore, and<br />
afterwards let it dry, and then polish and burnish it as bi f ore. Afterwards<br />
go over and repaint those places which you did bifore, with the same<br />
mordant or colour, but let this third and last coat oj colour be tempered<br />
with white oj egg ....<br />
Sometimes painters tried to prepare the medium in such a way that it retained<br />
a workable consistency without being heated. This is why some recipes, including<br />
the following two recipes, survive for keeping glue fluid during preparation<br />
without heating it: "If you have the time, allow the mordant to get<br />
stale, for several days or weeks, for it will be better putrid than fresh" and "if<br />
you want to keep it liquid, put in more plain water, and let it stand; and after<br />
a few days it will stay liquid without heating. It may smell bad, but it will be<br />
very good" (22, 23).<br />
Others describe adding more water and vinegar with honey to the dissolved<br />
glue (24). The next day the vinegar is poured off, and clear water is added<br />
and heated. When it cools, the glue is stored and eventually becomes liquid.<br />
The small amount of vinegar soaked up by the glue also seems to help preserve<br />
it. The De Arte Illuminandi says, "And know that it is a very good plan<br />
to soften parchment or stag's horn glue with the best vinegar; and when it<br />
is softened, and the vinegar poured off, add plain water and melt it, and<br />
proceed as has been said" (25). Pigments were mixed with this medium in<br />
much the same way as with egg tempera, presumably by first grinding them<br />
in water and then adding the medium.<br />
Painted on fine linen, the Adoration measures 54.6 em X 69.2 em. Judging<br />
by the age and type of strainer, it is reasonable to presume that the painting<br />
was removed from its original support, which could have been a panel or<br />
another strainer as described in the Alcherius manuscript. This would presumably<br />
have been carried out in the early nineteenth century for the purpose<br />
of mending two horizontal tears. Presumably to repair this damage, a<br />
lining canvas was applied to the back with an animal glue or starch paste. In<br />
what is preserved of the original canvas, no tack holes or pronounced stretch<br />
marks (called "scalloping") are visible. This might indicate that the canvas was<br />
glued to its support, either a panel or a strainer (26). Two <strong>paintings</strong> by Mantegna<br />
with their original supports still exist. One is the Ecce Homo at the<br />
Musee Jacquemart Andre in Paris, which is glued to a panel, and the other<br />
is the Presentation at the Staatliche Museen in Berlin, which has its original<br />
strainer (Fig. 3) (27). A slightly raised edge on the top might indicate that<br />
the Adoration had an engaged frame, such as the Berlin Presentation, which<br />
has a series of splinters adjacent to the painted frame with the color continuing<br />
up along these splinters. An example of an engaged frame survives<br />
(Metropolitan Museum of Art, Lehman Collection) that has a remnant of the<br />
original canvas by an unknown artist sandwiched between the strainer and<br />
the frame (28).<br />
114<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Figure 3. Andrea Mantegl1a, The Presentation in the Te mple. Origil1al strailler with panel inserts<br />
seen from front, 68. 9 X 86.3 CII. Staatliche Museen zu Berlin.<br />
Gold highlighting<br />
The intricate details and extensive gold highlighting of the Getty Adoration<br />
are laid out over preparatory base colors such as those visible on the borders<br />
of the Ecce Homo. In the latter, Mantegna probably finished the painting after<br />
it was placed into a frame (which no longer exists), as suggested by the fine<br />
details painted up to a one-half-inch border all around. The feathered-out<br />
colors on two edges of the Getty Adoration give an indication of such preparatory<br />
colors (Plates 24, 25). The figures themselves are placed against a<br />
uniform black background. The halos of St. Joseph, the Virgin, and the Christ<br />
Child, painted in shell gold (fmely ground gold in gum arabic), are executed<br />
with fine, concentric brush marks that gradually become longer and thicker<br />
toward the outer rim (Plate 24). The simulated Cufic letters on the Virgin's<br />
dress, the coins in Balthazar's cup, the censer and red cap of Melchior, and<br />
the earrings and brooch of Balthazar are all highlighted with fm e gold lines.<br />
This all was done in a technique that is consistent with Alcherius' descriptions.<br />
Concluding observations<br />
The recent Mantegna exhibit at the Royal Academy in London and the<br />
Metropolitan Museum in New York provided us with a better understanding<br />
of Mantegna's use of distemper and gave us an opportunity to study the<br />
varnished and unvarnished <strong>paintings</strong> next to each other (29).<br />
Many distemper <strong>paintings</strong> that have been varnished have been considered<br />
irreversibly damaged. The recent restoration of the Adoration was a successful<br />
attempt to improve the aesthetic quality of the painting and reverse the glossy<br />
surface to a matte one, a surface that is more consistent with the original<br />
technique.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Important Old Master Pictures (Part 1). 1985. London: Christie, Manson, and Woods,<br />
Ltd. 18 April 1985:39-44.<br />
Rothe 115
2. Elam, C. 1982. The Splendours oj the Gonzaga. Catalog. London: Victoria & Albert<br />
Museum, 122, entry no. 32.<br />
3. Lightbown, R. W 1986. Mantegna. Oxford, Berkeley, and Los Angeles, 446.<br />
4. I am indebted to Dusan Stulik, Michele Derrick, Michael Schilling, and Eric<br />
Doehne from the Getty Conservation Institute fo r their extensive media analysis.<br />
5. Mills,]., and R. White. 1978. National Gallery Technical Bulletin (2):71-76.<br />
6. White, R. 1984. The characterization of proteinaceous binders in art objects.<br />
National Gallery Technical Bulletin (8):5-14.<br />
7. Thompson, D. L. 1982. Mummy Portraits in the J. Paul Getty Museum. Malibu,<br />
California: The ]. Paul Getty Museum, 7.<br />
8. Wolf thai, D. 1989. The Beginnings oj Netherlandish Canvas Painting: 1400-1530.<br />
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.<br />
9. Leonard, M., F. Preusser, A. Rothe, and M. Schilling. 1988. Dieric Bouts's Annunciation.<br />
The Burlington Magazine Guly): 517-522.<br />
10. Wolf thaI, op. cit., 6. See also 38-87 in catalogue.<br />
11. Illuminated manuscript artists used media, such as gum arabic, that are similar to<br />
watercolors and have very similar optical properties to distemper paint.<br />
12. Mantegna was known to have been an exasperatingly slow painter, as revealed<br />
in the correspondence with his benefactor, Ludovico Gonzaga, the Marquis of<br />
Mantua.<br />
13. Kristeller, P 1902. Andrea Mantegna. London, 534, doc. 69.<br />
14. Cennini, C. 1960. The Crciftsman's Handbook. Translated by D. V Thompson. New<br />
York: Dover Publications, 87.<br />
15. White, op. cit., 5-14.<br />
16. Merrifield, M. P 1849. Original Treatises on the Arts oj Painting. London: John<br />
Murray, 232.<br />
17. Ibid., 89-90.<br />
18. Ibid., 255.<br />
19. Ibid., 262.<br />
20. Ibid.<br />
21. Ibid., 262-64.<br />
22. Ibid., 282.<br />
23. De Arte Iliuminandi. 1933. Translated from the Latin (Naples MS XII.E.27) by<br />
D. V Thompson and G. H. Hamilton. New Haven: Yale University Press, 12-<br />
13.<br />
24. Eastlake, C. L. 1960. Methods and Materials oj Painting oj the Great Schools and<br />
Masters. Vol. 1. New York: Dover Publications, 106-7.<br />
25. De Arte Iliuminandi, op. cit., 13.<br />
26. Strainers differ from stretchers in that they have no keys. Stretchers became<br />
widely used after the eighteenth century.<br />
27. The Ecce Homo has the original panel, confirmed by carbon-14 dating, on which<br />
the original canvas is glued only by its edges to the back of the panel. The<br />
Presentation still has its original strainer with two original backing boards inserted<br />
into the strainer, as if it were on panel. The Lamentation in the Brera, which no<br />
longer has its original support, quite probably had one similar to the Presentation.<br />
28. Newberry, T., G. Bisacca, and L. Kanter. 1990. Italian Renaissance Frames. New<br />
York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, no. 63 (diagram erroneously under no.<br />
64).<br />
29. So far, not a single painting of Mantegna's has been identified as painted in<br />
oil, even though there are records of his having ordered walnut oil.<br />
116<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Abstract<br />
In September 1992 the J Paul Getty<br />
Museum acquired Titian's VertUS and<br />
Adonis, which is considered to be<br />
one of the few of Titian's autograph<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> of the subject. The inorganic<br />
and organic pigments, oil<br />
medium of the paint layers, and proteinaceous<br />
medium of the ground<br />
were examined using various analytical<br />
methods. In addition, the authors<br />
studied Titian's other, much later<br />
version of Venus and Adonis located<br />
in the National Gallery in Washington,<br />
D.c. The comparison revealed<br />
distinct differences in style and technique.<br />
This multidisciplinary study<br />
has shown to be very useful in gaining<br />
a better understanding of Titian's<br />
working methods. The examination<br />
also revealed useful information<br />
about various aspects of early Italian<br />
oil painting methods in general and<br />
helps place the technique of this<br />
painting by Titian in context with<br />
other <strong>paintings</strong> of the period.<br />
Te chnical Examinations of Titian's Venus and Adonis:<br />
A Note on Early Italian Oil Painting Technique<br />
Ulrich Birkmaier<br />
Conservation Department<br />
National Gallery of Art<br />
4th Street and Constitution Ave. NW<br />
Washington, D.c. 20565<br />
USA<br />
Arie Wallert*<br />
The Getty Conservation Institute<br />
Museum Services Laboratory<br />
The J Paul Getty Museum<br />
17985 Pacific Coast Highway<br />
Malibu, California 90265<br />
USA<br />
Andrea Rothe<br />
Department of Paintings Conservation<br />
The J Paul Getty Museum<br />
17985 Pacific Coast Highway<br />
Malibu, California 90265<br />
USA<br />
Introduction<br />
The story of Venus and Adonis, from Book X of Ovid's Metamorphoses, ends<br />
with the name of a fragile flower: anemone. As the tale is told, Adonis was a<br />
young man of unequaled beauty, who became the lover of Venus (1). Venus<br />
was so much in love with him "that she even stayed away from heaven,<br />
preferring Adonis to the sky. She used to hold him in her arms, and became<br />
his constant companion." She warned her lover not to hunt dangerous animals:<br />
"Your youth and beauty, and the charms which make Venus love you,<br />
have no effect upon lions or bristling boars, or the eyes and minds of other<br />
wild beasts. The fierce boar deals a blow with his fangs, as swift as a lightning<br />
flash ..."<br />
Of course, Adonis did go out hunting. His dogs fo und a fresh trail, followed<br />
it, and roused a wild boar. Adonis tried to kill it, but with the help of its<br />
crooked snout the boar dislodged the spear. The boar pursued Adonis and<br />
"it sank its teeth deep in his groin, bringing him down, mortally wounded<br />
on the yellow sand." Venus, on her way to Cyprus, driving through the air<br />
in her chariot, heard her lover's groans. She went down, and with the dying<br />
Adonis in her arms, said that an everlasting token of her grief would remain<br />
there. His blood dripping to the ground would change into a flower, the<br />
anemone. But, just like their love, the enjoyment of this flower is brief "for<br />
it is so fragile, its petals so lightly attached, that it quickly falls, shaken from<br />
its stem by those same winds that give it its name, anemone."<br />
This story is represented in a series of poesie <strong>paintings</strong> of Classical subjects, by<br />
Titian. Such <strong>paintings</strong> were very popular among wealthy patrons, as their<br />
mythological subject matter usually provided an excuse for the depiction of<br />
overt sensuality. King Philip II of Spain commissioned a series of poesies from<br />
Titian. The Venus and Adonis now located in the Prado Museum in Madrid<br />
is considered the first of the series to reach its patron in 1554. The last one<br />
was The Rape oj Europa of 1562, now in the Isabella Steward Gardener Museum<br />
in Boston.<br />
Another version of Venus and Adonis by Titian recently came into the collection<br />
of the J. Paul Getty Museum. This work, showing Venus attempting<br />
* Author to whom correspondence should be addressed.<br />
Birkmaier, Wallert, and Rothe 117
to prevent Adonis from leaving for the hunt, is considered one of the few of<br />
Titian's autograph <strong>paintings</strong> on the subject (Plate 26). In addition to this work<br />
and the Venus and Adonis in the Prado, another of Titian's <strong>paintings</strong> by the<br />
same name is located at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.c.<br />
(Plate 27).<br />
Conservation work on the Getty Museum's recent acquisition of Venus and<br />
Adonis gave the authors the opportunity to perform a technical examination<br />
of the painting. It was examined with the use of the following: microscopic<br />
methods, including polarized light microscopy (PLM) and scanning electron<br />
microscopy (SEM); spectrometric methods, including ultraviolet visible spectroscopy<br />
(UV Ivis), Fourier transform infrared (FTIR) spectroscopy, fluorescence<br />
(FS) spectroscopy, and energy dispersive X-ray fluorescence (EDXRF)<br />
spectroscopy; and chromatographic methods, including gas chromatography<br />
(GC) and thin-layer chromatography (TLC). X-ray diffraction (XRD) and a<br />
number of staining tests and microchemical tests were also used (2). The<br />
cooperation between conservators and scientists proved instrumental in gaining<br />
a better understanding of Titian's painting technique. This understanding<br />
was greatly improved through the cooperation of David Bull of the Washington<br />
National Gallery who gave us the opportunity to examine a later<br />
version of the Venus and Adonis in the gallery's collection using a stereomicroscope.<br />
This examination made it possible to compare Titian's execution<br />
of the same theme at different stages in his career. Our study was greatly<br />
facilitated by Joyce Plesters's pioneering publications on the examination of<br />
Titian pieces in the London National Gallery. Her work served as an example<br />
for our own research and as a continuing source for comparison, and helped<br />
in the interpretation of the analytical results. It also helped the authors place<br />
the technique of this particular painting in relation to that of other <strong>paintings</strong><br />
of the same period, as well as those of Titian's later and earlier periods.<br />
Support<br />
The painting measures 160 X 196.5 cm. The original canvas is a plain weave<br />
linen, having 16 threads per centimeter in the warp direction and 18 threads<br />
per centimeter in the weft direction. It is made of two strips of canvas, joined<br />
by a vertical seam. The right strip measures 101 cm; the left-hand strip is<br />
slightly smaller and measures 95.5 cm. The painting has been cut on all sides;<br />
it is possible that the left side was cut by 5-9 cm. PI esters has found that the<br />
loom width of sixteenth-century Venetian canvases tends to range between<br />
1.06 and 1.10 cm (3).<br />
The painting was first documented in the collection of the Queen Christina<br />
of Sweden and then in that of the Duc d'Orleans. The French eighteenthcentury<br />
engraver Delignon made prints of objects in the duke's collection<br />
(4). One of these prints shows the Getty Venus and Adonis, in which it can<br />
be seen that the original composition may have extended out a bit more on<br />
the left side and that it was not originally cut off as close to Venus's fo ot as<br />
it is now. Since the scalloping of the original canvas on the left side is clearly<br />
still visible, the losses cannot have been too extensive.<br />
In the Prado version, which measures 186 X 207 cm (as compared to the<br />
National Gallery version, which measures 107 X 136 cm), the painting's<br />
surface extends a bit further to the left. Comparison of the loss in the Getty<br />
painting with corresponding areas in the print and in the Prado version leads<br />
to the conclusion that the width of the loss may be accounted for by the<br />
difference between the present 101 cm strip and the 106-1 1 0 cm width of<br />
the average sixteenth-century Venetian loom. At the right of the Getty painting,<br />
a relatively large section of the dog's tail, still complete in the Delignon<br />
print, is cut off. The amount of the loss is difficult to estimate, but judging<br />
from comparison with the print (the Prado version has suffered an even<br />
greater loss), it is probably not more than 4-5 cm.<br />
The loss at the upper side, again based on comparison with the Delignon<br />
print, and the London and Prado versions, is more extensive. The shaft of the<br />
118<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
arrow in Adonis's right hand ends at the edge of the painting. The loss may<br />
be estimated at 5-9 cm. On the basis of a comparison with the Delignon<br />
print, the original size of the painting may have been 172 X 213 cm.<br />
Ground<br />
The painting has a conventional gesso ground. The ground was chemically<br />
identified as calcium sulfate. XRD has shown that it consisted of a dihydrate<br />
gypsum. This composition is common fo r Venetian painting at that time.<br />
Gypsum of the dihydrate form occurs when it is used in its natural state. The<br />
use of unburned gesso-as opposed to burned gesso, where crystallization<br />
water is driven off to an anhydrite form-seems to occur primarily on Venetian<br />
<strong>paintings</strong>. PLM examination, however, has shown that a considerable<br />
amount of anhydrite particles were also present. Paintings from Florence and<br />
Sienna more often show the presence of anhydrite or hemihydrite grounds<br />
(5). Gesso grounds of this type were the same as those used for ground layers<br />
on panel <strong>paintings</strong>, and its use stems from this tradition. In panel <strong>paintings</strong>,<br />
however, several layers of gesso-gesso grosso and gesso sottile--were applied.<br />
The brittleness of the gypsum layers, which form a good first ground on<br />
panels, would cause it to crack off too easily from a canvas. Therefore, artists<br />
began using thinner gesso layers on canvas; eventually, in the eighteenth century,<br />
an oil priming was used instead.<br />
The ground on the Getty Titian is rather thinly applied so that it only fills<br />
the spaces between the warps and wefts of the canvas. Cross sections show<br />
that it is an unpigmented ground. In some areas, an oily layer containing a<br />
few charcoal-black particles was found between the white ground and the<br />
first paint layer. It was only later, in the <strong>paintings</strong> by Tintoretto, for instance,<br />
that a colored ground became more common. A passage in the Volpato<br />
manuscript refers to Titian's use of white gesso grounds as opposed to the<br />
increasing use of colored grounds by other, more modern Venetian painters.<br />
Staining of microscopic cross sections with specific reagents gave strong indication<br />
that the binding medium of the ground contains proteinaceous material;<br />
this was confirmed by the presence of specific FTIR absorption bands.<br />
Infrared mapping allowed us to locate the presence of specific bands in the<br />
cross sections.<br />
Underdrawing<br />
Infrared reflectography revealed some evidence of underdrawing. The interpretation<br />
of the infrared reflectograms is difficult, however, as some features<br />
that showed up as broad, dark lines in the reflectogram could be carbon black<br />
used in the paint, rather than the underdrawing. It is not immediately obvious,<br />
for instance, whether the dog's curled tail in the original underdrawing was<br />
intended to be straight. The broad, dark form in the reflectogram may represent<br />
a dark, carbon-black pigment in the painted tail, which was actually<br />
intended to be curled in the underdrawing. The reflectogram shows sketchy<br />
lines in the trees in the background. The sleeping Cupid seems also to have<br />
been rapidly sketched before painting. In all, no significant deviations from<br />
the preparatory drawing appear to have been made.<br />
Paint layers: the medium<br />
Staining of cross sections indicated that the actual painting was executed in<br />
an oil medium. This was confirmed by the presence of characteristic absorption<br />
bands in the FTIR spectrum (Fig. 1). Three samples were selected for<br />
examination with gas chromatography. One sample consisted Inainly of paint<br />
fo r the golden vase in the painting's lower left corner. The other samples<br />
contained blue particles for the sky. Contemporary sources often indicate the<br />
use of walnut oil, which was generally considered to yellow less with age, for<br />
the making of blue paints. Earlier studies of Titian's <strong>paintings</strong> have revealed<br />
that the artist used both types of oil on different occasions. Chromatography<br />
showed an azelaic:palmitic acid ratio in all three different samples, indicating<br />
Birkmaier, Wallert, and Rothe 119
60<br />
55<br />
"! ,... '"<br />
.. ..; ,.:<br />
50<br />
N 0<br />
<br />
'"<br />
:;!; <br />
, , , , ,<br />
IT '000 3600 3200 2800<br />
'00<br />
Wavenumber (cm-1)<br />
2000 raoo 1600 "00 1200 1000 800 600<br />
Figure 1. FTIR spectrum of paint sample (no. 17) takenfrol11 blue if the sky area. Hydrocarbon<br />
stretch bands at 2923 CI11-1 and 2851 cm-I• as well as the hydrocarbon bend at 1404 cm-I, indicate<br />
the presence of an oi/ medium. The band at 2342 cm -I is characteristic for natural ultramarine.<br />
the use of a drying oil. The palmitic:stearic acids ratios of the samples suggest<br />
that the sky was executed in walnut oil or in a mixture of walnut and linseed<br />
oils in contrast to other areas of the painting, in which the faster drying, but<br />
more yellowing, linseed oil was used.<br />
Painting<br />
The thinness and relatively simple structure of the paint layers are in accordance<br />
with what seems to have been Titian's practice around the 1550s.<br />
Examination of the cross sections shows that most of the paint was fairly<br />
directly and thinly applied, as opposed to the technique he used in his later<br />
<strong>paintings</strong>. In the foreword to Marco Boschini's Ricche Minere della Pittura Veneziana<br />
(1664), an authoritative and contemporary description is given by<br />
Palma Giovane of the manner in which Titian gave form to the <strong>paintings</strong> he<br />
made after the 1550s (6):<br />
He used to sketch in his pictures with a great mass if colours, which served<br />
as a base fo r the compositions he then had to construct. [The compositions<br />
wereJformed with bold strokes made with brushes laden with colours, sometimes<br />
with a pure red earth, which he used for a middle tone, and at other<br />
times of white lead; and with the same brush tinted with red, black and<br />
yellow he formed an accent; and thus he made the promise if a figure<br />
appear in fo ur strokes . ... Having constructed these precious fo undations<br />
he used to turn his pictures to the wall and leave them without looking at<br />
them, sometimes for several months. When he wanted to apply his brush<br />
again . .. he would treat his picture like a good surgeon would his patient,<br />
reducing if necessary some swelling or excess of flesh, straightening an arm<br />
if the bone structure was not exactly right . ... After he had done this,<br />
while the picture was drying, he would turn his hand to another and work<br />
on it the same way. Thus he gradually covered those quintessential forms<br />
with living flesh, bringing them by many stages to a state in which they<br />
lacked only the breath of life . ... In the last stages he painted more with<br />
his fingers than with his brushes.<br />
This process could involve not just two or three weeks but, with several steps<br />
and with long interruptions, could continue for months, even years, resulting<br />
in a painting with several paint layers.<br />
The process, as described by Palma Giovane, is distinctly different from the<br />
earlier manner in which Titian painted. This difference was already noticed<br />
by Vasari in 1566:<br />
120<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
For the early works are executed with a certain f inesse and an incredible<br />
diligence, so that they can be seen from close as well as from a distance<br />
while these last pictures are executed with broad and bold strokes and<br />
smudges, so that from nearby nothing can be seen whereas from a distance<br />
they seem peifect.<br />
In the case of the Venus and Adonis at the Getty, the earlier technique was<br />
used. The paint layers are few and relatively thinly applied. Where visible in<br />
infrared reflectography, the underdrawing seems to have been closely followed.<br />
No significant changes from the carefully planned composition have been<br />
made. Some later additions seem to have been made, however, in areas such<br />
as Adonis's arms and Venus's legs and back. Some areas in the landscape also<br />
appear to be built up with several paint layers. The pigments seem to be<br />
thoroughly ground directly into the binding medium. This contrasts strongly<br />
with the pigments in the National Gallery's Venus and Adonis. Observed<br />
under a stereo microscope, many lumps of pigment are visible, suggesting that<br />
in making the paint, the pigments were not really ground into, but simply<br />
stirred into the oil. Some differences can be noted between the version in<br />
the Getty and the one in the Prado. Judging from the development as described<br />
by the two contemporary comments, the Getty painting is more<br />
loosely executed than the Prado version, and must have been made at a later<br />
date, perhaps around 1560. The National Gallery version can definitely be<br />
considered to have been painted after the Getty and Prado versions.<br />
Paint layers: the pigments<br />
Yellow pigments. The highlights of Adonis's belt were executed in a bright<br />
yellow with occasional small orange-red dots placed on the highlights. When<br />
examined with PLM, samples taken from the area showed that the yellow<br />
consisted of highly birefringent mica-like particles (n>1 .66). The yellow pigment<br />
had all the optical characteristics of orpiment, including a laminated<br />
form and a waxy luster of the fairly large crystalline particles. The identification<br />
of orpiment was confirmed by finding larger amounts of arsenic in<br />
the sample. A small microchemical test showed that the sample also contained<br />
sulfides.<br />
The red dots on Adonis's belt and the orange-red of Adonis's shoe were also<br />
executed in an arsenic-containing pigment realgar. These pigments were<br />
identified by the usual means of microscopic and microchemical analysis. In<br />
addition, the findings were confirmed by XRD and XRF (Fig. 2).<br />
The use of orpiment and realgar in European easel <strong>paintings</strong> is comparatively<br />
rare, but it is not unusual to find them in Venetian painting; the use of<br />
orpiment occurred more often in manuscript illuminations. This lack of popularity<br />
may be due to the fact that both pigments are highly poisonous, and<br />
good alternatives, such as lead-tin yellow or yellow lakes fo r orpiment or<br />
vermilion for realgar, were readily available. Because of their sulfidic nature,<br />
both orpiment and realgar are not very compatible with many other pigments.<br />
The Theophilus manuscript even states that orpiment cannot be mixed with<br />
any other color because it would destroy them. While realgar was sometimes<br />
used to prevent putrefaction of binding media by bacteria, fungi, and microorganisms,<br />
<strong>historical</strong> recipes describing the use of realgar as an actual pigment<br />
are extremely rare (7).<br />
Considering their drawbacks, it is surprising to see how frequently these<br />
pigments were used in sixteenth-century Venetian painting. They have been<br />
identified in several <strong>paintings</strong> by Titian and Giorgione and in many <strong>paintings</strong><br />
by Tintoretto and Bassano. The reasons for this preference are not immediately<br />
evident. Both mineral substances could not be fo und in the immediate<br />
vicinity and had to be imported. They are conspicuously absent in <strong>paintings</strong><br />
made in the area around Naples where the minerals actually do occur in the<br />
fumaroles near Mount Vesuvius. Their frequent use in sixteenth-century Venice<br />
may relate to the increasing use of oil as the paint medium. The pigment<br />
Birkmaier, Wallert, and Rothe 121
!:;<br />
;Dr -ID'LdDtDw<br />
at' ______________________________-' __ r-__ ,, __ '-'-,<br />
Titian YlIOIl low .pot on<br />
baIt Adon i.<br />
80/51" tcrg8t.<br />
240 50kV. 3. 3m".<br />
acac. 11. I. 1993, AW<br />
A.<br />
t-<br />
..<br />
7L-____________________________________________________________ <br />
KloV 10 11 12 13<br />
Figure 2. XRF spectrum of yellow area on belt of Adonis. High peaks fo r arsenic and sulphur suggest<br />
the presence qf orpil11ent.<br />
particles, being enclosed in the oily medium, would no longer be incompatible<br />
with other pigments, as they were in the previously used tempera techniques.<br />
The radiant brilliance of their color in this new medium may have<br />
contributed to their popularity.<br />
Ochres were used to paint the landscape, the brownish color of the dogs, and<br />
the golden vase near Venus's seat. Yellow ochres (hydrous iron oxides) were<br />
identified under the microscope by their optical properties and by the presence<br />
of high peaks fo r iron in the XRF spectrum.<br />
Blue pigments. The major blue pigment used on this painting was natural<br />
ultramarine (Fig. 1). Samples taken from the deep blue of the mountain range<br />
appear under the microscope as pale blue, splintery particles with a low refractive<br />
index (n < 1.66). In the cross section, one can see a single layer of<br />
densely packed blue particles.<br />
XRF of several blue areas showed high peaks for cobalt, potassium, and arsenic,<br />
strongly suggesting the presence of smalt, an artificial pigment made<br />
from potassium-rich glass deeply pigmented with cobalt oxide and ground<br />
to a powder. Gettens and Stout suggest that the earliest occurrence of cobaltcolored<br />
glass in Europe may have been in the early fifteenth-century Venetian<br />
glass industry (8) . As the colorant for the glass, a substance called zafran is<br />
mentioned. A recipe in a fifteenth-century treatise already mentions the preparation<br />
of smalt as a smalto cilestro (9).<br />
The source of the smalt in the Getty painting may have been Saxony or<br />
Bohemia, where sixteenth-century glassmakers used the locally mined cobaltite<br />
(CoAsS) and smaltite (CoAs2) minerals, which contain large amounts<br />
of arsenic, to make smalt. The high peaks of arsenic measured by XRF, in<br />
combination with those of cobalt, seem to indicate that cobaltite or smaltite<br />
minerals were the source for the blue pigment. It is unclear whether the<br />
zafran, or zaffer of Italian descriptions, has the same composition as the northern<br />
European cobaltite. In other areas of the painting's sky, the original ultramarine<br />
was scumbled over with a pale, milky blue. Examination of cross<br />
sections of those areas shows that the pale blue consists of a layer of almost<br />
completely discolored glassy particles.<br />
Red pigments. Vermilion appears in Adonis's red sleeve. Its presence was established<br />
by discovering high mercury peaks with XRF and confirmed by<br />
122<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
J<br />
Figure 3. Fluorescence spectrul1'l of red lake pigment on shirt of Adonis. Quantum yields at A em 445<br />
nl1'l to A ex 397 nm and A em 433 nl1'l to A ex 355 rim indicate preSe/1ce of a cochineal dyestuff.<br />
microchemical tests and PLM of a sample taken from the area. The other<br />
reds in Adonis's tunic and the clothing draped over Venus's seat were of an<br />
organic nature. In a sample taken from the seat, an organic colorant was fo und<br />
that also showed the presence of a few textile fibers. This led us to believe<br />
that the red lake may very well have been a so-called lacca de cimatura de grana.<br />
These cimatura lakes were made by an early recycling process. The dyestuffs<br />
were precipitated into a pigment lake extracted from red textile clippings or<br />
shearings (cimature) from a tailor's workshop. The making of such lakes was a<br />
fairly common practice, and its description can be fo und in numerous fifteenth-<br />
and fourteenth-century recipe texts (10). The procedure could be<br />
performed with most of the available red textiles. The dyestuffs most likely<br />
to be found in these lakes are anthraquinone-type dye, such as kermes, cochineal,<br />
lac dye, and madder. The analyses by FS and TLC showed the presence<br />
of more than one organic colorant; the red appeared to be a mixture. A sample<br />
taken from Adonis's garment showed a good match with a library scan of the<br />
cochineal standard (Fig. 3). The results were confirmed by chromatography,<br />
which also indicated the presence of purpurin, a colorant present in madder<br />
type dyestuffs. No spot for alizarin, the major coloring component of common<br />
madder (Rubia tinctorum), could be found. Several possible conclusions<br />
are indicated: (a) wild madder (Rubia peregrina) was used, (b) a specific technique<br />
was used for the dyeing of the original textile, or (c) the alizarin was<br />
not fully extracted in the cimatura process. This finding supports the suggestion<br />
that the lake was a cimatura de grana-lake, and the painters who extracted<br />
the dyestuffs from textile shearings had no control over the actual dyestuff<br />
composition. Since they are similar in color, and not readily distinguishable,<br />
any madder-dyed textiles could easily have been included in a larger batch<br />
cochineal-dyed clippings.<br />
Lake pigments are known to dry poorly. It was common practice, therefore,<br />
to add ground glass to lakes. Sixteenth-century glass was typically very rich<br />
in lead; the lead in the glass would act as a siccative, thus promoting the<br />
drying of the paint. An interesting passage in the Paduan manuscript describes<br />
the process: "To make lake indigo and lamp-black, dry quickly. Grind them<br />
with oil, then take glass ground to a very fine powder, and incorporate with<br />
the colors by grinding them together again; and thus, in the space of 24<br />
hours, they will dry" (11).<br />
Examination of a microsample of the red lake of Adonis's shirt did, indeed,<br />
show the presence of small glass particles. The purplish red of Venus's seat,<br />
on the other hand, was made of a mixture of an organic red lake and smalt<br />
(Fig. 4). In this case, the smalt had a double function. It gave the carmine lake<br />
a more purple color and at the same time acted as a siccative.<br />
White pigments. The white pigment found on the painting was lead white.<br />
XRF revealed the presence of lead in the sky and in the flesh tints. Polarized<br />
Birkmaier, Wallert, and Rothe 123
Titian r&d 91 aZI!;! on aQot<br />
12.1.199:3. 80/5,.. target. 240 SOkV, ::I. grru'<br />
eee. AW<br />
F.<br />
Pb<br />
A.<br />
Pb<br />
Figure 4. XRF spectrum if purple area on seat of Venus. High peaks fo r cobalt and arsenic suggest<br />
the presence if smalt.<br />
light microscopy of pigment samples taken from those areas showed them to<br />
contain birefringent particles with a high refractive index (n> 1.66) that<br />
matched lead-white laboratory standard. This conclusion was confirmed by<br />
staining cross sections with Lugol stain. X-radiographs of the painting show<br />
how Titian used the lead white, particularly to enhance the contrasts in his<br />
composition. It helped to make Adonis's silhouette stand out against lighter<br />
areas in the sky, and emphasized the reddish blush on the face of Venus against<br />
the bright crimson shirt of Adonis (Fig. 5).<br />
Figure 5. X-radiograph if Venus and<br />
Adonis, showing Titian's use of lead-whitebased<br />
highlights.<br />
A sample taken from the sky area showed that there was not very much<br />
pigment present. The sky appeared to be executed in thin glazes over an<br />
anhydrite gesso ground, with the white of the ground showing through. The<br />
finding of the lathlike anhydrite particles came as a surprise since anhydrite<br />
is generally considered to have been used in more southern areas of Italy. In<br />
the Venice region, the dihydrate fo rm was usual. We do not yet have a satisfactory<br />
explanation for this. In samples taken from the sky area, a relatively<br />
large amount of splintery, isotropic particles with low refractive index<br />
(n
This property was deliberately used in the making of copper resinates. These<br />
are complex compositions of copper salts with various resinous acids, such as<br />
abietic and succinic acids, achieved by heating verdigris with Venetian turpentine<br />
or pine resins. The resulting substance shows no particulate matter,<br />
and a strong, bright green color. Copper resinate became the pigment of<br />
choice whenever bright green glazes were desired. An early account fo r the<br />
deliberate making of such a compound can be found in a fifteenth-century<br />
manuscript in the Biblioteca Casanatense (13). Unfortunately, the copper resinates<br />
show the same tendency to discolor, giving the meadow and the trees<br />
in the background of the Getty Titian their present brown color in place of<br />
the originally deep green color. In various areas on the painting, however,<br />
the copper resinate has retained some of its original color. In particular, the<br />
green leaves of grass near Adonis's foot stand out because of their bright,<br />
strong color. Examination of a cross section taken from that area showed that<br />
the copper resinate was not laid over the underpaint but rather mixed with<br />
lead white. This mixture may possibly have helped in preserving much of its<br />
original color. The green of the trees in the background was produced with<br />
copper resinate.<br />
The green that was used to paint the meadow near the vase at the lower-left<br />
corner consisted of a mixture of copper resinate and yellow ochre. The cross<br />
section showed that there were only two different paint layers on the gesso<br />
ground: one layer of yellow ochre, possibly applied in two coatings, and an<br />
upper layer of copper resinate. The leaves of the plants appear to be highlighted<br />
with white, and glazed with copper resinate.<br />
No other green pigments could be identified. This finding tallies with the<br />
use of greens in Titian's later Tarquin and Lucrezia (14). We were surprised<br />
that malachite, fo und in Titian's almost contemporary Bacchus and Ariadne or<br />
in Tintoretto's <strong>paintings</strong> in the National Gallery, could not be detected in the<br />
samples we took from the Getty painting (15, 16).<br />
Conclusion<br />
Our examinations show that the execution of the J. Paul Getty Museum's<br />
Venus and Adonis represents a stage between the Prado version and the National<br />
Gallery version. It stands technically in the middle between two extremes<br />
in Titian's stylistic development. The earliest stage is the Prado version<br />
in which an already conceived image is carefully designed and then executed<br />
and filled in accordingly. In Titian's later style, however, the painting grows<br />
out of an interaction between matter and concept. As every touch of the<br />
brush has its impact on all previous touches, there is a shift in the appearance<br />
of the final painting. Rather than resulting from a fixed plan, this way of<br />
creating a painting with the total problem of the picture in mind, is apt to<br />
be a continually developing and self-revising one.<br />
The Getty piece already represents a concept of painting in which form does<br />
not merely follow function, but rather grows out of a continuous interaction<br />
between the demands of the material and the artistic idea: "Obwohl das Werk<br />
erst im Vollzug des Schaffens wirklich wird und so in seiner Wirklichkeit<br />
von diesem abhangt, wird das Wesen des Schaffens vom Wesen des Werkes<br />
bestimmt" (17).<br />
Notes<br />
1. Ovid. 1986. Metamorphoses. Translated and introduced by M. M. 1. Middlesex,<br />
Penguin Books, Ltd., 239, 244-45.<br />
2. van Asperen de Boer. J. R. J. 1975. An introduction to the scientific examination<br />
of <strong>paintings</strong>. Netherlands Yearbook Jo r History if Art (26): 1-40.<br />
3. Plesters, J. 1980. Tintoretto's Paintings in the National Gallery, National Callery<br />
Technical Bulletin (4):37.<br />
4. Wethey, H. E. 1975. The Paintings oj Titian, Vol. III: The Mythological and Historical<br />
Paintings. London: Phaidon, plate 189.<br />
Birkmaier, Wallert, and Rothe 125
5. Gettens, R.]., and M. E. Mrose. 1954. Calcium sulphate minerals in the grounds<br />
of Italian <strong>paintings</strong>. Studies in Conservation (4):182-83.<br />
6. Valcanover, F. 1990. An introduction to Titian. In Titian, Prince oj Painters. Venice,<br />
3-28.<br />
7. The only documentary evidence for it can be fo und in the fifteenth-century<br />
manuscript in Modena Biblioteca Estense (MS a.T.7.3), fol. 3r. Also see Wallert,<br />
A. 1984. Orpiment and realgar, some pigment characteristics. MaltechniklRestauro<br />
(90):45-58.<br />
8. Gettens, R.]., and G. L. Stout. 1966. Painting Materials: A Short Encyclopedia. New<br />
York: Dover Publications.<br />
9. Rome, Biblioteca Casanatense MS 2265, fol. 91r, describes the making of the<br />
blue glass. On fol. 88r, the manuscript describes the actual processing of the glass<br />
into a pigment for painting: "A macinare ismalto azuro che poi pingere in suo<br />
colori. Pilia il smalto et rompelo sotile poi macinelo sopra il porfido cun sorro<br />
de ovo cun uno pocho di melle. Masinalo sutile como vopi et se andasse secondo<br />
azonze uno pocho de aqua. Et quando e masinato lava fora il mele et 10 ovo<br />
cun l'aqua e remanera cossa bellisima."<br />
10. Wallert, A. 1991. "Cimatura de grana"; Identification of natural organic colorants<br />
and binding media in mediaeval manuscript illumination. Zeitschrijt ju r Kunsttechnologie<br />
und Konservierung (5):74-83.<br />
11. Merrifield, M. P. 1849. Original Treatises on the Arts if Painting, Vol. II. London:<br />
John Murray, 667.<br />
12. Kiihn, H. 1964. Griinspan und seine Verwendung in der Malerei. Farbe und Lack,<br />
(70):703-1 1.<br />
13. Rome, Biblioteca Casanatense MS 2265, fol. 99r : "A fa r stagnolo verde. Piglia<br />
vernice liquida e olio de linosa equal misura e meteli denmtro verderame bene<br />
pulverizato. Poi fa bolire tanto che habia il colore a tuo modo. Poi 10 adopeera."<br />
The result of this recipe is a complex copper resinate/oleate compound. This<br />
recipe shows that copper resinates were not always made of Venice turpentine<br />
as is generally assumed on the basis of a description in De Mayerne's treatise.<br />
14. Jaffe, M., and K. Groen. 1987. Titian's Tarquin and Lucrezia in the Fitzwilliam.<br />
The Burlington Magazine, (CXXIX):162-71.<br />
15. Lucas, A., and J. Plesters. 1978. Titian's Bacchus and Ariadne. National Callery<br />
Technical Bulletin (2) :25-48, especially 4 1.<br />
16. Plesters, op. cit., 32-48.<br />
17. Heidegger, M. 1970. Der Ursprung des Kunstwerkes. Stuttgart: Reclam Verlag, 66.<br />
126<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Abstract<br />
The St. Anne Altarpiece (National<br />
Gallery of Art, Washington, Widener<br />
Collection) is the largest work attributed<br />
to the Bruges artist Gerard<br />
David (ca. 1460-1523). Several panels<br />
of the altarpiece were examined<br />
to identify the materials and methods<br />
used. The results show that the<br />
center panel was painted using a different<br />
technique from that for the<br />
side and predella panels. There are<br />
distinct groupings of underdrawings<br />
among the panels. The main panel<br />
was laid out more specifically at the<br />
underdrawing stage, with three separate<br />
drawing campaigns and a correction<br />
on top of a paint layer. In<br />
the center panel only, all the major<br />
fo rms were laid out in the first paint<br />
stage with a lighter value of the final<br />
paint color, with multiple layers of<br />
progressively more saturated paint<br />
built up to create the final appearance.<br />
In contrast, the predella and<br />
side panels were painted directly, using<br />
fewer layers of paint. The program<br />
of painting would have allowed<br />
for workshop participation, especially<br />
in the main panel.<br />
Gerard David's St. Anne Altarpiece: Evidence for<br />
Workshop Participation<br />
Catherine A. Metzger and Barbara H. Berrie*<br />
National Gallery of Art<br />
Washington, D.c. 20565<br />
USA<br />
Introduction<br />
Gerard David (ca. 1460-1523) is known to have been a member of the painters'<br />
guild in Bruges by January 1484. It is generally accepted that he operated<br />
a workshop, evidenced by the use of pricked drawings and his documented<br />
dispute with Ambrosius Benson over the alleged theft of such drawings (1 ,<br />
2). The recent restoration of the St. Anne Altarpiece provided an opportunity<br />
fo r its reexamination and technical analysis (3). This paper addresses the evidence<br />
for workshop participation in the altarpiece. The full results of the<br />
technical investigation will be published in the future.<br />
The altarpiece<br />
The St. Anne Altarpiece depicts St. Anne with the Virgin and Child flanked<br />
by St. Nicholas (left) and St. Anthony of Padua (right) (Plate 28). John Hand<br />
has described the altarpiece (4). Six pre della panels are accepted as part of the<br />
original altarpiece; the three panels at the National Gallery of Scotland illustrate<br />
three miracles from the life of St. Nicholas, while the three panels at the<br />
Toledo Museum of Art show three miracles from the life of St. Anthony.<br />
Another panel, Lamentation of Christ at the Foot of the Cross (The Art Institute<br />
of Chicago, Mr. and Mrs. Martin A. Ryerson Collection), is possibly part of<br />
this altarpiece. According to dendrochronological data, David painted the altarpiece<br />
around 1506, but the stylistic evidence for dating is less precise (5).<br />
The stiffness and lack of expression of the figures in certain altarpiece panels,<br />
especially the central panel and the St. Anthony pre della panels, have led to<br />
doubts regarding the attribution to David. Workshop participation in the St.<br />
Anne Altarpiece was proposed as early as 1905 (6) . Marlier suggested the participation<br />
of Ambrosius Benson in the altarpiece (7). Scillia has attributed the<br />
central panel and the St. Anthony predella panels to an assistant (8). Recently,<br />
it has been suggested that the entire altarpiece is by a follower of David (9).<br />
The support<br />
Figure 1. Secondary eiectroll image of the<br />
chalk ground of the center panel of Gerard<br />
David and Workshop's St. Anne Altarpiece,<br />
ca. 1506. The coccolith is typical of<br />
those found in northern European deposits.<br />
The two side panels of the altarpiece, which have been reduced in height,<br />
now measure 214 X 76 cm. If the semicircular upper profile is recreated<br />
based on the truncated arcs still visible at the upper extremity of each panel,<br />
the original height of these panels can be estimated at 236 cm. By comparison<br />
to contemporary Italianate altarpieces, the central panel can be assumed to<br />
have been even greater in height. The predella panels are 56 cm high. The<br />
altarpiece is the largest work in David's oeuvre and one of the largest surviving<br />
from the period (10). The scale alone suggests that David would have<br />
had assistance in this production. The patron fo r such a sumptuous and extravagant<br />
commission is not yet known.<br />
The central panel is assembled from fo ur boards, each side panel from three.<br />
From the relative widths of the central and side panels, it is clear that this<br />
was a fixed, not a closing, altarpiece. The oak panels were prepared in the<br />
traditional manner with coatings of chalk in glue. Coccoliths in the chalk<br />
ground prove a natural, and Northern, source (Fig. 1) (11).<br />
* Author to whom correspondence should be addressed.<br />
Metzger and Berrie 127
Figure 2. Infrared rriflectogram assembly if the cherub standing 01'/ the throlle (lift side, area if rriflectogram:<br />
23 X 10 C/'I'/). Type I drawing is visible, characterized by an even, relatively narrow width.<br />
Rriflectograph by M. Faries.<br />
The underdrawing<br />
Infrared reflectography reveals distinct campaigns of underdrawing that can<br />
be described in four groups (12). Type I is characterized by a narrow, even<br />
line that skips over the surface of the ground. It is the first drawing stage in<br />
all three of the main panels and the St. Nicholas predella panels. There is only<br />
a small area of type I drawing in one of the St. Anthony predella panels. The<br />
drawing made using this material is summary. An example of this drawing<br />
type in the cherub on the throne is illustrated in Figure 2. This underdrawing<br />
128<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Figure 3. Infrared reJlectogram assembly of the Virgin's head (area of reJlectogram: 23 X 17 em).<br />
Type II underdrawing characterized by variable density and line width. ReJlectograph by M. Faries.<br />
can be seen in the cross section illustrated in Plate 29a, obtained from the<br />
location marked in Figure 3. The underdrawing layer is only a few microns<br />
thick.<br />
Type II underdrawing is characterized by variable line width and intensity.<br />
These properties, together with the distinctly dropletlike forms visible in some<br />
places, suggest type II lines were produced using a liquid. Type II lines are<br />
found in the figural group of the center panel, where they describe the forms<br />
more firmly. Figure 3 shows the infrared reflectogram of St. Anne's head.<br />
Here sketchy type I lines have been overdrawn with the type II underdrawing.<br />
Nearly all the underdrawing in the St. Anthony predella panels is executed<br />
with a liquid type II drawing material that lays out the composition concisely.<br />
In the central figural group of the main panel, however, the line is often rigid<br />
and repetitive as, for example, in the shading to the right of the Christ Child.<br />
In addition to these kinds of underdrawing there is a third form, type III,<br />
that can be seen with the naked eye in St. Anne's red robe (Fig. 4). These<br />
lines are characterized by their bold appearance with handling qualities more<br />
similar to that of a paint than of an ink. A cross section shows type III was<br />
laid down thickly, and then covered with a translucent layer (Plate 29b). Type<br />
III has only been found in St. Anne's red drapery and no other place in either<br />
the side or predella panels. A fo urth type of marking of fo rm is evident in<br />
the reflectogram of the Virgin's sleeve (Fig. 5). Here, a dark irregular line lies<br />
over the first layers of paint (Plate 29c). The subsequent layer of paint follows<br />
the line denoted by this "correction" layer. Optical microscopy showed the<br />
pigment here is charcoal (13). Two panels, The Miracle if the Purse and The<br />
Metzger and Berne 129
Figure 4. Infrared niffectogram assembly of part of St. Anne's red drapery (area of riflectogram: 24 X<br />
21 em). Type III underdrawing, which is characterized by its painterly quality, is illustrated. Riflectograph<br />
by M. Faries.<br />
Miracle of the Dead Child, have wandering marks that recollect the appearance<br />
of the correction in the Virgin's sleeve. The dotted quality of these lines has<br />
led researchers to interpret them as having been produced by pouncing. However,<br />
microscopical examination of the paint surface showed that in these<br />
locations, the black paint protrudes through the uppermost white layers, giving<br />
an impression of a series of dots. These spotty "correction" lines in the<br />
predella panels were not followed in the final paint layers, as they were in the<br />
center panel.<br />
The looseness and lack of formality of the underdrawing in the two side<br />
panels and the predella panels, coupled with the fact that there are many<br />
repositionings from the underdrawn to the paint stage, suggests that someone<br />
with the authority to interpret the sketch and deviate from it, most likely the<br />
master himself, was working on the side panels and the predella panels. The<br />
careful additional delineation of outlines in the St. Anne suggests that someone<br />
who was less intuitive was to work on this panel. The "correction" mark<br />
in the Virgin's sleeve, which is followed in the final paint layer, also suggests<br />
a second hand in this process. The " correction" marks in the predellas, which<br />
are ignored in the final paint stage, suggest the finishing touches were completed<br />
by someone who could and did act independently. Participation of<br />
workshop members at the underdrawing stage has been noted. For example,<br />
Fairies found at least three hands in the underdrawing in the Crucifixion triptych<br />
in the Rijksmuseum Het Catherijnenconvent in Utrecht (14). The master,Jan<br />
van Scorel, drew only in the exterior wings; the drawing in the interior<br />
wings and the central panel was executed by two anonymous assistants.<br />
130<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Figure 5. Irifrared niflectogram assembly of the Virgin 's sleeve, showing the "correction" layer which<br />
appears as dotted lines (area of refiectogral1l: 24 X 21 an). Refiectograph by M. Faries.<br />
The paint layers<br />
The preparatory layers. Staining the cross sections shows that the chalk ground<br />
in the main panels was not coated with a layer of glue before application of<br />
the underdrawing. In some of the cross sections, however, there is a dusting<br />
of red and black particles in an oleaginous layer; these particles are especially<br />
visible under the green cloth of honor behind St. Anne and the Virgin.<br />
Scattered particles such as this are rarely noted in painting cross sections;<br />
however, Coremans, et al. and later Brinkman, et al. found a similar layer in<br />
the Ghent altarpiece (15, 16). There is a clearer indication of the use of a<br />
sealing layer over the underdrawing in St. Anne's red drapery. Here the hatching<br />
lines, which are visible to the naked eye, have a translucent layer over<br />
them, separating the red paint from the drawing lines.<br />
The X-radiographs of all six predella panels have clear indications for an<br />
overall, randomly brushed underlayer which must contain lead white to register<br />
in the X-radiograph. The few samples from the pre della panels show<br />
Metzger and Berrie 131
there is a lead-white underpaint or imprimatura. X-radiographs of the central<br />
panel show a similar vigorous, striated, and randomly applied layer in some<br />
areas.<br />
The relationship between the underdrawing and the final image. In the main and<br />
predella panels, the layers of paint follow the outlines of the underdrawing in<br />
a general fashion. There are many major and minor departures from the<br />
underdrawn outlines, however, and additional elements have been added to<br />
the composition in the paint stage without any redrawing. There are numerous<br />
examples in the predel1a panels. For example, in St. Nicholas Slips a<br />
Purse through the Window if an Impoverished Nobleman, the hand and purse<br />
were painted slightly lower than they are drawn, and a shoe and stocking that<br />
were not included in the underdrawing appear. The praying hands of the<br />
foremost boy in St. Nicholas Restores Three Dismembered Ch£ldren to Life were<br />
lowered in the paint stage and St. Nicholas's crosier was raised in the same<br />
scene.<br />
In the side panels, St. Anthony's foreground fo ot is drawn in a lower position<br />
than it was painted. The elaborate gold crosier that St. Nicholas grasps is<br />
changed from the drawn to the painted version. These changes were made<br />
at the initial stage of painting without any redrawing.<br />
In the central panel, there are fewer changes from the underdrawing to the<br />
final image, however, the Virgin's head was painted higher than it was drawn.<br />
The X-radiograph shows this change was made after the first layer of St.<br />
Anne's wimple had been laid down, after which the head was painted in its<br />
new position, without any detectable redrawing.<br />
The pigments and layer structure. The painting technique of the center panel of<br />
the altarpiece is similar to that found in the Ghent altarpiece (17). There is<br />
evidence fo r an oil-based sealing layer toned with red and black pigments<br />
over the underdrawing and under the paint. The paint structure is multilayered<br />
and the colors are worked from light to dark. The cross sections show<br />
that each large area of color was blocked in using a light tone of the final<br />
color. For example, the Virgin's mantle is underpainted in pale blue (Plate<br />
29d) ; a blue-green layer blocked in the whole area of the cloth of honor<br />
(Plate 2ge); and the throne, on which statues of putti stand, is underpainted<br />
with a lighter gray (Plate 29a) (18). Type III underdrawing provides the midtone<br />
in St. Anne's drapery, which was painted using two layers of vermilion<br />
and red lake covered by multiple layers of a transparent red glaze (Plate 29b).<br />
The paint layer structure in the side panels is not the same as in the center;<br />
the build-up of color and form is quite different. St. Anthony's robe has only<br />
a single violet-gray layer (Plate 29f). St. Nicholas's chasuble was painted by<br />
laying in a yellow ochre base, on which shadows were created with a thick<br />
dark layer of black pigment mixed with vermilion. Whereas in the center<br />
panel the layers of paint are always tonally related (e.g., red covering red) , in<br />
St. Nicholas yellow paint is used as a base for red and green in the saint's<br />
vestments. In the red embroidered chasuble, the cut velvet was painted with<br />
a layer of vermilion mixed with red lake. Red glazes were applied to depict<br />
the texture.<br />
The technique of Lamentation at the Foot if the Cross, as described by Butler,<br />
is similar to the technique employed on the predel1a panels in the use of an<br />
imprimatura containing lead white and in the relatively simple layer structure<br />
(19). Certain similarities to David's The Virgin and Child with Saints and a<br />
Donor are seen in the paint structure (20).<br />
Summary<br />
The central figural group of the center panel was produced using a different<br />
technique from the rest of the altarpiece. Its structure is similar to those found<br />
in earlier fifteenth-century <strong>paintings</strong>, such as in the Ghent altarpiece (21).<br />
This method of working-sealing the underdrawing, laying in light tones,<br />
132<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
followed by modeling layers and glazes, with the addition of new drawing as<br />
guidelines-would have lent itself to the participation of the workshop. The<br />
repositioning of the Virgin's head during the painting process could indicate<br />
the continued involvement of the master. Painting with modifications and<br />
corrections fronl the underdrawing, and modeling of tone using very few<br />
layers of paint, as is seen in the side panels, requires self-assurance and authority;<br />
it would be harder to use assistants in the production of a painting<br />
when this was the method of working. Workshop participation in the center<br />
panel rather than the side and predella panels is not usually expected, although<br />
there is precedent for it.<br />
Acknowledgments<br />
The authors thank Molly Faries, Maryan Ainsworth, and John O. Hand for many<br />
helpful discussions and the staff of the Department of Visual Services, National Gallery<br />
for their assistance.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Taubert,]. 1975. Pauspunkte in Tafelbildern des 15. und 16.Jahrhunderts. Bulletin<br />
de l'Institute Royale du Patrimoine Artistique (XV) :390.<br />
2. Bruges, State Archives, Aanwinsten 3804: Register van de burgerlijke vonissen<br />
van de Schepenkamer te Brugge 1518-1519, fols. 82v-83r. See also Parmentier,<br />
R. A. 1937. Bescheiden omtrent Brugsche Schilders in de 16e eeuw: 1. Ambrosius<br />
Benson. Handelingen van het genootschap Societe d'Emulation te Brugge LXXX, 92-<br />
3. See also Marlier, G. 1957. Ambrosius Benson et la peinture a Bruges au temps de<br />
Charles-Quint, Damme, 42-43.<br />
3. The St. Anne Altarpiece was the subject of the Curatorial Colloquy III of the<br />
Center fo r Advanced Study in the Visual Arts, 20-24 May 1991.<br />
4. Hand, ]. O. 1986. In Early Netherlandish Painting. Eds. ]. 0. Hand and M. Wolff.<br />
Washington: National Gallery of Art, 63-74. See also Hand,]. O. 1992. The Saint<br />
Anne Altarpiece. Exhibition brochure. Washington: National Gallery of Art.<br />
5. Klein, P 1986. Dendrochronological Report on The St. Anne Altarpiece. 23 April 1986.<br />
Klein determined that there are two groups of boards. Three of the boards, two<br />
from St. Anthony and one from St. Nicholas, come from the same tree. The<br />
felling date of this tree was estimated as 1496 (using the assumption of fifteen<br />
sapwood growth rings) . The other group of boards have rings that suggest a<br />
felling date of 1402. Assuming the wood was stored for ten years, Klein estimates<br />
the altarpiece could have been manufactured from 1506 onward.<br />
6. von Bodenhausen, E. E 1905. Gerard David und seine Schule. Munich: E Bruckman.<br />
7. Marlier, op. cit. (note 2), 46-50.<br />
8. Scillia, D. G. 1975. Gerard David and Manuscript Illumination in the Lowlands.<br />
Ph.D. diss. Case Western Reserve University, Ohio.<br />
9. van Miegroet, H.]. 1989. Gerard David. Antwerp: Mercatorfonds, 313-14.<br />
10. Verougstraete-Marcq, H., and R. Van Schoute. 1989. Cadres et supports dans la<br />
peinture fiamande aux 15e et 16e siecles. Heure-Ie-Romain, 9, 76-77.<br />
11. Gettens, R.]., E. W FitzHugh, and R. L. Feller. 1993. Calcium Carbonate Whites.<br />
In Artists' Pigments: A Handbook of their History and Characteristics, Vo!' 2. Washington:<br />
National Gallery of Art, 203-26.<br />
12. Infrared reflectography of the main panels was undertaken (1981-1982) by Molly<br />
Faries and in 1990 by Maryan Ainsworth. Reflectography of the Toledo panels<br />
was completed in 1984 by Faries, and of the Edinburgh panels in 1990 by the<br />
National Gallery of Art. Faries used a high resolution Grundig FA 70H video<br />
camera with a TV Macromar 1:2.8/36 mm lens and a Kodak 87 A Wratten filter<br />
on a Hammamatsu N214 vidicon detector. The assemblies were prepared by<br />
photographing the image as it appeared on the monitor and pasting the photographs<br />
together.<br />
13. A Leitz Orthoplan microscope was used with apochromat lenses. The samples<br />
were mounted in Cargille Meltmount and examined at xl00-630.<br />
14. Faries, M. 1986. Division of labour in the production of panel <strong>paintings</strong> in the<br />
workshop of Jan van Score!' In Kunst voor de beeldenstorm. Exhibition catalogue.<br />
's-gravenhage: 113.<br />
15. Coremans, P, R. ]. Rutherford, and ]. Thissen. 1952. La technique des Primitifs<br />
Flamands. Etude scientifique des materiaux, de la structure et de la technique<br />
picturale. Studies in Conservation (1):1-29.<br />
Metzger and Berrie 133
16. Brinkman, P W. E, L. Kockaert, L. Maes, L. Masschelein-Kleiner, E Robaszynski,<br />
and E. Thielen. 1984. Het lam Godsretabel van van Eyck. Een heronderzoek<br />
naar de materialen en schildermethoden. 1. De plamuur, de isolatie!aag, de tekening<br />
en de grondtonen. Bulletin Institut Royale Patrimoine Artistic-KIK (20):137-<br />
66.<br />
17. Brinkman, P W. E, L. Kockaert, L. Maes, E. M. M. Thielen, and J. Wouters. 1988-<br />
1989. Het lam Godsretabe! van van Eyck een Heronderzoek naar de materialen<br />
en schildermethoden. 2. De hoofdkleuren blauw, groen, gee! en rood. Bulletin<br />
Institut Royale Patrimoine Artistic-KIK (20):26-49. See also Coremans, et al., op.<br />
cit. and Brinkman, et a]., 1984, op. cit.<br />
18. A lEOL 6300 scanning electron microscope and a Link energy dispersive spectrometer<br />
with the Super ATW Si(Li) detector were used. Analysis of a green<br />
particle in the bottom layer of paint in the cloth of honor showed it was composed<br />
of copper, chlorine, and oxygen.<br />
19. Butler, M. H. 1976. A technical investigation of the materials and technique used<br />
in two Flemish <strong>paintings</strong>. Museum Studies (The Art Institute of Chicago) (8):59-<br />
71.<br />
20. Wyld, M., A. Roy, and A. Smith. 1979. Gerard David's "The Virgin and Child<br />
with Saints and a Donor." National Callery Technical Bulletin, Vol. 3. London:<br />
National Gallery, 5-65.<br />
21. Brinkman, 1988-1989, op. cit. See also Coremans, et al., op. cit. and Brinkman,<br />
et al., 1984, op. cit.<br />
134<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Abstract<br />
Based on extensive information from<br />
cross sections and infrared reflectography,<br />
this paper presents some aspects<br />
of painting technique that were<br />
held in common by Jan van Scorel,<br />
the head of a productive sixteenthcentury<br />
North Netherlandish workshop,<br />
and Maarten van Heemskerck,<br />
his best-known assistant. Some of the<br />
idiosyncrasies in Heemskerck's painting<br />
technique differ from Scorel's<br />
studio routine and are more apparent<br />
in this artist's early works.<br />
Maarten van Heemskerck and Jan van Scorel's Haarlem<br />
Workshop<br />
Molly Faries*<br />
Henry Radford Hope School of Art<br />
Indiana University<br />
Bloomington, Indiana 47405<br />
USA<br />
Christa Steinbuchel<br />
Wallraf-Richartz-Museum<br />
Bischofsgarten 1<br />
W-5000 Kaln<br />
Germany<br />
J. R. J. van Asperen de Boer<br />
Groningen University<br />
Department for the History of Art and Architechture<br />
Oude Boteringestraat<br />
p. 0. Box 716<br />
9700 AS Groningen<br />
The Netherlands<br />
Introduction<br />
From the records of the Mariakerk in Utrecht where Jan van Scorel held<br />
clerical office, the precise dates of his stay in Haarlem are known: 29 April<br />
1527 to 28 September 1530. Karel van Mander's Schilder-Boeck, the primary<br />
source on the workshop Scorel established in Haarlem during that time, reports<br />
that Scorel rented a house in order to take on students. In the biographies<br />
of other sixteenth-century North Netherlandish painters, including<br />
Jan Swart van Groningen or Jan Vermeyen, Mander implies that these painters<br />
were either Scorel's students or were somehow in contact with his shop.<br />
Modern scholars have added other likely (and not so likely) names to Mander's<br />
list, including Comelis Buys, Herman Postma, and Jan Stephan van Calcar,<br />
but the assistant whom Mander described at some length was Maarten<br />
van Heemskerck. According to Mander, Heemskerck applied himself diligently<br />
in Scorel's Haarlem studio, eventually producing works that were indistinguishable<br />
from those of his master. In Mander's rather dramatic account,<br />
Heemskerck finally surpassed the de Const (artistry) of his master, only to be<br />
dismissed from the shop, ostensibly because of Scorel's jealousy (1). However<br />
anecdotal this story might seem, art historians have indeed had difficulties<br />
distinguishing early works by Heemskerck from Scorel's work. For most of<br />
the twentieth century, early Heemskerck artworks were attributed to Scorel;<br />
it was not until the 1980s that several key attributions were changed, primarily<br />
in the 1986 Art Before Iconoclasm exhibition (2). Jeff Harrison's recently<br />
published dissertation on Heemskerck is the first to outline a new and plausible<br />
chronology for his early works (3).<br />
Jan van Scorel's technique<br />
Full technical studies have been carried out by Molly Faries and J. R. J. van<br />
Asperen de Boer on a number of <strong>paintings</strong> by Jan van Scorel from this period,<br />
including examination by binocular microscope, infrared reflectography, X<br />
radiography, dendrochronology, and sampling. Until the new shifts in attribution,<br />
few early works of Heemskerck had been studied as thoroughly. This<br />
situation changed with the recent cleaning of Lamentation (Wallraf-Richartz<br />
Museum, Cologne), a painting attributed variously to Scorel, Heemskerck, or<br />
an anonymous artist from the same period. The research in conjunction with<br />
this restoration, carried out under the direction of Christa Steinbuchel, has<br />
* Author to whom correspondence should be addressed.<br />
Faries, Steinbuchel, and van Asperen de Boer 135
Figure 1. Jan van Scoref, Baptism of Christ, ca. 1527-1530. Photograph by M. Faries (after<br />
Dingjan), courtesy of Frans Hafsmuseum, Haarlem.<br />
provided critical comparative evidence (4). The results help to define the art<br />
<strong>historical</strong> attributions and suggest some changes to Harrison's chronology.<br />
This material not only brought greater clarity regarding the typical painting<br />
procedures used in Scorel's shop, but also signaled the steps Heemskerck took<br />
in his evolution away from Scorel's shop.<br />
During the Haarlem years, Scorel standardized his painting technique in response<br />
to the needs of an active workshop (5). The most overt clue to the<br />
standardization is revealed in the layout of underdrawings from this period.<br />
The Baptism if Christ in the Frans Halsmuseum, Haarlem, must have been<br />
one of the most prestigious commissions the artist received 1527-1530 (Fig.<br />
1). The layout of this painting is fully worked out, from the assured contours<br />
and loosely marked shaded zones in the figures of the main scene to the light<br />
and dark bands in the landscape and other background detail. Areas where a<br />
known motif was to be placed were no longer just left as a blank space in<br />
the underdrawing, but marked with indicative shapes referring to the motif.<br />
The underdrawing was laid out as a more recognizable and emphatic guide.<br />
The Baptism was also painted following what had evolved into Scorel's usual<br />
practice. This practice comprised the following: (a) an application of lead<br />
white as a continuous intermediate layer between the ground and paint, (b)<br />
an underdrawing in black chalk on this layer, and (c) a preference fo r certain<br />
paint-layer structures and color combinations. A white intermediate layer certainly<br />
occurs in artistic groups other than that of Scorel's workshop. It has<br />
been found in some early German panels, and sporadically in the Hans Memling<br />
and Gerard David groups, for instance. Scorel, however, could not have<br />
learned the use of such a layer from his master in Amsterdam. It begins to<br />
show up in some of Scorel's early works produced during his journey to Italy,<br />
but only appears consistently after his return north. It was the three-fold<br />
fu nction of this layer that was peculiar to the efficacy of Scorel's painting<br />
technique: it isolated the ground, added to the painting's luminosity, and provided<br />
"tooth" for the underdrawing, a fu nction almost unique to the Scorel<br />
group (6). In many infrared documents, the underdrawing can be seen to skip<br />
or crumble on top of this ridged surface. One cross section from Baptism<br />
shows this typical paint layer structure: a first layer consisting of lead white<br />
at a maximum thickness of 12 fL, a second layer composed of clumps of black<br />
136<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
o . (Vv..-.<<br />
1 2.<br />
underdrawing, and a third layer consisting of a dark green mixture of green,<br />
blue, and white; no ground is used (Fig. 2). In addition, Scorel often paints<br />
wet in wet with the usual run of pigments, except for his use of natural<br />
ultramarine and a blue-over-rose structure. The latter superimposition of colors,<br />
with ultramarine on the surface (as seen again in a cross section from<br />
Baptism), has been linked to Scorers observation of Italian painting technique<br />
(Plate 30) (7).<br />
Figure 2. Cross section from Baptism with<br />
measurements in microns: layer 1, traces of<br />
the intermediate white layer; layer 2, particles<br />
of black chalk underdrawing; layer 3, mixture<br />
of light green, blue, and white. Photograph<br />
by M. Faries (after J. R. J. van Asperen de<br />
Boer).<br />
Marteen van Heemskerck's technique compared<br />
Before the conservation of the Cologne Lamentation and the recent revisions<br />
in art <strong>historical</strong> opinion, what was known of Heemskerck's painting technique<br />
showed little connection to Scorel (Fig. 3). The current acceptance of Lamentation,<br />
long attributed to Scorel, as a Heemskerck by scholars Faries, Harrison,<br />
and W Th. Kloek is by no means unchallenged. A study of the painting's<br />
technique shows why a separation of "hands" has been so difficult.<br />
Lamentation was begun as a Scorel studio piece and finished as a Heemskerck,<br />
as seen in both the underdrawing and the painting technique. Infrared reflectography<br />
examination, undertaken by Faries in 1991, disclosed exceptionally<br />
complicated compositional change in this work (8). The painting was<br />
taken through as many as six stages while the composition was changed from<br />
a profile Scorelesque Entombment scene to a Heemskerck frontal presentation<br />
of the Lamentation.<br />
The numerous samples required because of the piece's complex restoration<br />
history provided more than enough evidence about Lamentation's painting<br />
procedure. The initial preparation of the ground and position of the underdrawing<br />
in the paint layer structure match the standard practice of Scorers<br />
Haarlem shop. A thin layer of lead white covers the entire surface of the<br />
ground; it appears consistently in sections that show the entire paint layer<br />
structure. The black chalk underdrawing is found on top of the intermediate<br />
layer (9). Although some of the lines of the different compositional stages<br />
must have crossed, no noticeable overlapping or disjunctures in any samples<br />
that include the underdrawing layer can be seen. The presence of the lead<br />
white intermediate layer coupled with the black chalk underdrawing can be<br />
Figure 3. Maarten van Heemskerck, Lamentation of Christ, ca. 1530. Photograph by C. Steinbachel,<br />
courtesy of Wallraj-Richartz-Museum, Cologne.<br />
Faries, Steinbiichel, and van Asperen de Boer 137
considered a kind of technical signature, although not of an individual hand:<br />
It is the signature of Scorel's shop. Most of the pigments used in completing<br />
the image are, of course, also common to those found in Scorel's <strong>paintings</strong>.<br />
No ultramarine has been found, however, and the blue used throughout the<br />
painting is azurite. This no doubt proves not only that Jan van Scorel is the<br />
only north Netherlandish artist documented to have used natural ultramarine<br />
in his works, but that he also used it selectively, saving it for his most important<br />
commissions (10). It was, therefore, not available to his assistant, or at<br />
least not for this painting. Not unexpectedly, the blue-over-rose paint layer<br />
structure is also lacking in Lamentation.<br />
Figure 4. Infrared reflectogram detail if<br />
Lamentation, showing the dark undermodelil1g<br />
strokes if Nicodemus's turbal1 in the upper<br />
background. I'!frared reflectography by M.<br />
Faries.<br />
;;<br />
I<br />
I<br />
s) (.10<br />
'1) 10-'3£<br />
3) q -2-1<br />
Z) g-I&<br />
Figure 5. Cross sectiol1 from Maarten van.<br />
Heemskerck's St. Luke with measuremen.ts in<br />
microns: layer 1, possible trace of ground;<br />
layer 2, gray intermediate layer; layer 3,<br />
compact layer if black with black particles;<br />
layer 4, admixture if white, black, and red;<br />
layer 5, white layer with one large azurite<br />
crystal; layer 6, varnish. Photograph by M.<br />
Faries (after J. R. J. van Asperen de Boer).<br />
Other ways in which the painting practice in Lamentation deviates from ScoreI's<br />
standard require a different explanation, since these differences form critical<br />
links with other <strong>paintings</strong> that can now be considered early Heemskerck.<br />
Dark modeling strokes executed with a brush have been detected in the<br />
finishing stages of Lamentation. Some strokes that underlie the surface colors<br />
can be disclosed by infrared (Fig. 4). Other black-colored modeling is applied<br />
in the final paint layer, especially in reds. The cross section from John the<br />
Evangelist's drapery clearly shows the black particles in the vermilion and red<br />
lake admixture (11).<br />
Although Scorel's Baptism and Heemskerck's Lamentation are the focus of this<br />
study, their techniques may be compared to a substantial amount of related<br />
technical material. Ample evidence proves that the paint-layer structure described<br />
above typifies the Scorel group <strong>paintings</strong> during Scorel's time in Haarlem.<br />
In addition, since nine <strong>paintings</strong> now attributed by some scholars to the<br />
early Heemskerck period have also been examined by various technical<br />
means, the evolution of Heemskerck's painting technique can be surveyed<br />
(12). Of the nine <strong>paintings</strong>, only four have been studied with the binocular<br />
microscope and sampled so far. At least three <strong>paintings</strong> use the blue-overrose<br />
structure typical of the Scorel group although, in each case, the blue<br />
pigment is azurite. Other aspects of the paint layer structure can be documented<br />
by X-ray or infrared reflectography. The infrared vidicon distinguishes<br />
pure colors that look black to our eyes but are transparent to the eye of the<br />
vidicon from "true" blacks, which remain opaque in reflectograms. This instrumental<br />
technique can therefore locate black modeling or under modeling<br />
in the same way it locates underdrawings. Dark modeling strokes used to<br />
block in forms can also be found in at least three other works in the hypothetical<br />
early Heemskerck group. The technique is unknown in the Scorel<br />
group. The presence of a thin layer of lead white over the ground can be<br />
verified in cross sections, as well as by X-radiography where it appears as<br />
broadly-brushed streaking. This practice is evident in a majority of works in<br />
the early Heemskerck group. It is the coupling of underdrawing with this<br />
layer, however, which undergoes a change; and finally, the character of the<br />
layer itself changes. In Lamentation, the black chalk underdrawing is supplemented<br />
by dark modeling and undermodeling in paint. Several other <strong>paintings</strong><br />
have a fo rm of underdrawing, but it is executed in a dark, paintlike<br />
substance rather than chalk. In four works, the underdrawing is undetectable.<br />
No underdrawing could be detected in the St. Luke Painting a Portrait of the<br />
Virgin and Child (1532), an indisputable early Heemskerck, and no underdrawing<br />
appeared in samples. In this work Heemskerck used a gray intermediate<br />
layer, a very different basis upon which to build up the fo rms of his<br />
painting (Fig. 5) (13).<br />
Conclusion<br />
Heemskerck must have worked in Scorel's studio for all or part of the period<br />
from 1527 to 1530, and after Scorel left Haarlem in September 1530, Heemskerck<br />
continued to paint in the city as an independent master until he himself<br />
left for Rome in 1532. The artist moved from a graphic black-on-white<br />
layout to more subtle forms of shading and undermodeling; based on changes<br />
in painting technique, an evolution is proposed for Heemskerck in this period.<br />
138<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
The key position of Lamentation in this proposed development is obvious, for<br />
it encapsulates both painting methods. Generally, those <strong>paintings</strong> that still rely<br />
on underdrawing (on the intermediate white layer) as part of the basic layout<br />
have an early date. Whether or not the <strong>paintings</strong> were produced in Scorers<br />
shop probably cannot be proven, but they were painted following Scorers<br />
shop routine. The <strong>paintings</strong> without underdrawing but with black-colored<br />
modeling appear to be later works, closer to Heemskerck's dated works of<br />
1531 and 1532. A clearer art <strong>historical</strong> picture of the early Heemskerck is<br />
now possible, but surely the blending of Scorers painting practices into the<br />
build-up of some of the earliest works explains the difficulties art historians<br />
have had in the past in attributing these <strong>paintings</strong>.<br />
Notes<br />
1. van Mander, K. 1604. Het Schilder-Boeck. Haarlem. Davaco ed. 1969, fol. 245.<br />
2. Kunst voor de beeldenstorm. 1986. Exhibition catalogue. Eds. J. P. Filedt Kok, W.<br />
Halsema-Kubes, W. Th. Kloek. Amsterdam: Rijksmuseum. Especially catalogue<br />
number 69, Rest on the Flight into Egypt (National Gallery of Art, Washington,<br />
D.c.) and catalogue number 72, Portrait oj a Young Scholar (Boymans van Beuningen<br />
Museum, Rotterdam), which were definitively assigned to Heemskerck.<br />
Around this same time, Adam and Eve (Hatfield House, Marquess of Salisbury)<br />
was being shifted from Scorel to Heemskerck by the research of Faries and<br />
Harrison.<br />
3. Harrison, J. C. 1992. The Paintings oj Maerten van Heemskerck. (Ph.D. diss., 1987,<br />
University of Virginia.) Ann Arbor, Michigan, esp. 11-34.<br />
4. For the restoration, see C. Steinbuchel, "The investigation and restoration of<br />
Maarten van Heemskerck's Lamentation oj Christ. " In Le dessin sous-jacent dans la<br />
peinture, Colloque X: Le dessin sous-jacent dans le processus de creation, eds. R. Van<br />
Schoute and H. Verougstraete-Marcq. Universite Catholique de Louvain, Institut<br />
superieur d'archeologie et d'histoire de l'art. Forthcoming.<br />
5. Faries, M. 1987. Some results of the recent Score! research: Jan van Scorel's<br />
definition of landscape in design and color. In Color and Technique in Renaissance<br />
Painting, Italy and the North. Ed. M. B. Hall. New York, 89-103, esp. 96.<br />
6. van Asperen de Boer, J. R. J., M. Faries, and J. P. Filedt Kok. 1986. Painting<br />
technique and workshop practice in northern Netherlandish art of the sixteenth<br />
century. In Kunst voor de beelderlstorm. Exhibition catalogue. Eds. J. P. Fi!edt Kok,<br />
W. Halsema-Kubes, W. Th. Kloek. Amsterdam: Rijksmuseum, esp. 108.<br />
7. Faries, op. cit., 92.<br />
8. For these infrared reflectography results, see M. Faries, "Attributing the layers of<br />
Heemskerck's Cologne Lamentation oj Christ." In Le dessin sous-jacent dans la peinture,<br />
Colloque X: Le dessin sous-jacent dans le processus de creation. Eds. R. Van<br />
Schoute and H. Verougstraete-Marcq. Universite Catholique de Louvain, Institut<br />
superieur d'archeologie et d'histoire de l'art. Forthcoming.<br />
9. Sample numbers 1,2, and 27.1 show this structure. Communication from Christa<br />
Steinbuchel to Molly Faries, 7 October 1994.<br />
10. van Asperen de Boer, et aI., op. cit., 109.<br />
11. Sample number 18. Communication from Christa Steinbuchel to Molly Faries,<br />
7 October 1994.<br />
12. The works studied, in presumed chronological order, are as follows: ca. 1527-<br />
1530: (1) Lamentation oj Christ, private collection, New York; (2) Crucifixion,<br />
Detroit Institute of Arts; (3) Rest on the Flight into Egypt, National Gallery of Art,<br />
Washington, D.c.; (4) Lamentation oj Christ, Wallraf-Richartz-Museum, Cologne;<br />
(5) 1531: Portrait oj a Scholar, Museum Boymans-van Beuningen, Rotterdam; (6)<br />
1531?: Baptism oj Christ, Staatliche Museen Preuf3ischer Kulturbesitz, Berlin; (7)<br />
1532: Christ as the Man oj SorroUls, Museum voor Schone Kunsten, Ghent; (8)<br />
1532: St. Luke Painting a Portrait oj the Virgin and Cltild, Frans Halsmuseum,<br />
Haarlem; (9) ca. 1530-1532: Family Portrait, Staatliche Kunstsanmilungen, Kassel.<br />
For the lack of underdrawing revealed in the 1529 so-called Bicker Portraits in<br />
Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum, see Kunst voor de beeldenstorm, op. cit., catalogue number<br />
71.1-2.<br />
13. van Asperen de Boer, J. R. J. 1987. A technical study of some <strong>paintings</strong> by<br />
Maarten van Heemskerck. In Color and Technique in Renaissance Painting, Italy and<br />
the North. Ed. M. B. Hall. New York, 105-1 14.<br />
Faries, Steinbiichel, and van Asperen de Boer 139
Abstract<br />
In the 1620s, a generation of Dutch<br />
landscape artists began to work in a<br />
naturalistic mode very different from<br />
that of the earlier generation of<br />
Flemish mannerist landscape artists, a<br />
number of whom had recently emigrated<br />
to the Northern Netherlands.<br />
The change from fantastic landscape<br />
to representations of Dutch scenes<br />
reflected political and economic<br />
changes as the Northern Netherlands<br />
established independence from Spanish<br />
domination. This stylistic change<br />
is reflected in changes in the painting<br />
materials and practices of the realist<br />
painters. In the 1620s, Dutch<br />
painters of naturalistic landscape<br />
adapted the efficient working practices<br />
of the Flemish landscape<br />
painters. They replaced the refined<br />
handling of paint and bright colors<br />
of the mannerist painters with limited<br />
tonalities and an abbreviated handling<br />
of paint to create convincing<br />
views of the Dutch landscape.<br />
Style and Technique in Dutch Landscape Painting<br />
in the 1620s<br />
E. Melanie Gifford<br />
Scientific Research Department<br />
National Gallery of Art<br />
Washington, D.c. 20565<br />
USA<br />
Introduction<br />
The early years of the seventeenth century saw a striking change of style in<br />
landscape painting in the Netherlands. At this time, Flemish landscape specialists<br />
produced <strong>paintings</strong> characterized more by fantasy than by close observation<br />
of nature. In the 1580s and 1590s, large numbers of Flemish artists,<br />
some of them landscape specialists, had emigrated to Holland to escape the<br />
political and economic hardships of the rebellion against Spanish rule (1).<br />
Around 1620, a very different, naturalistic style of landscape painting developed<br />
in the Northern Netherlands, particularly around Haarlem. These <strong>paintings</strong>,<br />
often based on drawings after nature, created distinctive images of the<br />
Dutch landscape (2, 3, 4).<br />
Such a dramatic change of style raises fascinating questions about how style<br />
develops. Was the new, naturalistic landscape style sparked by the arrival of<br />
the Flemish immigrants, or does it reflect an indigenous artistic sensibility? Is<br />
artistic style dependent on painting practice learned from other artists, or do<br />
artists modifY their practice to meet the demand for new styles?<br />
In an ongoing technical study, the author has been looking for material evidence<br />
for landscape artists' artistic concerns (5). This study seeks to characterize<br />
the differences of technique between Flemish mannerist landscapes of<br />
the turn of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, landscapes by Flemish<br />
immigrants to the Northern Netherlands during the same period, and the<br />
first naturalistic Dutch landscapes, which date from the second and third<br />
decade of the seventeenth century (6). In defining the artists' choices of<br />
working methods and painting materials, the study seeks to expand our<br />
understanding of the motivations, both fo rmal and practical, behind the<br />
development of the naturalistic Dutch landscape in the 1620s. The present<br />
contribution centers on developments in the handling of paint in these landscapes.<br />
From the <strong>paintings</strong> studied to date, I have chosen five <strong>paintings</strong> as<br />
illustration: a Flemish mannerist landscape, a mannerist landscape by a Flemish<br />
immigrant, two naturalistic landscapes by Dutch artists, and a somewhat later<br />
Dutch "tonal" landscape. A later, more complete publication will present full<br />
analyses of the <strong>paintings</strong>' materials.<br />
Flemish mannerist landscape<br />
In the Flemish landscape painting tradition, space is defined by formal conventions<br />
that convey an illusion of recession. Dark and light passages alternate,<br />
often with shadowed foreground repoussoirs sharply outlined against a brightly<br />
lit area beyond. Optical phenomena such as atmospheric perspective are represented<br />
not illusionistically, but almost symbolically, by a space organized into<br />
three zones defined by distinctly different tonalities. The darkened foreground<br />
zone is typically a rich brown, the middle ground is green, and the distance<br />
is a clear blue.<br />
Study of the technique of Flemish mannerist landscapes reveals refined handling<br />
combined with efficient working methods, which contributed to the<br />
high output of busy workshops. The compositions were usually laid out with<br />
a fairly complete underdrawing, most often including the figures, which were<br />
planned as integral parts of the composition. With the underdrawing as guide,<br />
140<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Figure 1. Workshop of Jan Bruegel, Noah's Ark. Panel, 65. 4 X 94.5 em. The Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore (3 7. 1998).<br />
space for the figures was left in reserve as the landscape was painted. Some<br />
landscape specialists collaborated with figure painters, in which case the figures<br />
would be painted over a fully completed landscape. Other workshops<br />
divided up production in a sort of assembly line, with junior associates filling<br />
in minor details.<br />
The painting materials in the Flemish mannerist group, while not unusual,<br />
were used in ways that enhanced the clear colors. Typically, a light-colored,<br />
opaque ground maintained the luminous tonalities of the paint, but rarely is<br />
the ground itself visible in the final image. Instead, the three dominant zones<br />
of the composition were laid out with broad areas of underpaint: warm brown<br />
in the foreground, soft green in the middle zone, and light blue in the distance.<br />
The final image was worked up over these base colors. Working from the<br />
back of the composition to the foreground, each zone was painted in turn<br />
in a limited range of colors harmonizing with that of the underpaint.<br />
A painting of Noah 's Ark at the Walters Art Gallery was produced by the<br />
workshop of Jan Bruegel (Fig. 1) (7, 8). In this painting, the techniques described<br />
above were adapted for team production in a workshop setting. As<br />
shown in a paint cross section from high in the central group of trees, a thick<br />
white chalk ground was sealed and lightly toned by a translucent imprimatura<br />
(layers 1 and 2) (Plate 31) (9). Over the preparation and underdrawing, the<br />
sky was laid in first, followed by a base color loosely brushed for each particular<br />
area of the composition; the upper two layers of the cross section show<br />
the sky (layer 3), which extends under the foliage base tone in the upper part<br />
of the trees, and the clear green underpaint (layer 4) of the lightest passage<br />
of the central group of trees. A skilled painter painted the main foliage elements<br />
and the figures and animals, which are the primary subjects of the<br />
painting, onto the broad areas of underpaint. Only after these major elements<br />
GijJord 141
Figure 2. Roelandt Savery, Landscape with Animals and Figures, signed and dated 1624. Panel, 54.6 X 91.4 cm. National Gallery if Art,<br />
Washington, D. C. (1989.22. 1). Gift of Robert H. and Clarice Smith in honor if the fiftieth anniversary if the National Gallery of Art.<br />
were completed did a workshop assistant fill in minor foliage details. The<br />
assistant's work has a mechanical, repetitive quality, and shows a cautious respect<br />
for the work of the master; the monkey on a low branch at the left is<br />
surrounded by a halo of the base color, where the assistant scrupulously avoided<br />
overlapping the master's work with his blades of grass.<br />
Landscapes by Flemish immigrants<br />
Landscapes by Flemish immigrants such as Gillis van Coninxloo, who arrived<br />
in Amsterdam from Frankenthal in 1595, and Roelandt Savery, who arrived<br />
with his family in 1591, are clearly in the Flemish tradition, both compositionally<br />
and technically (10). There are, however, variations of emphasis in<br />
the compositions that have consequences for the technique. The compositions<br />
retain the conventions of Flemish landscape. Dark and light passages are<br />
strongly juxtaposed and the three zones in brown, green, and blue organize<br />
the recession into space, but there is a much greater emphasis on the nearer<br />
zones. In Coninxloo's forest landscapes, such as the Landscape with Hunters of<br />
1605 in Speyer, the second and third zones are reduced to glimpses caught<br />
through the dense growth of monumental trees that fills the foreground zone<br />
(11). The result is a newly limited tonal range, one that emphasizes the browns<br />
and deeper greens of the middle and foreground. This self-imposed limitation<br />
is in itself a first step toward naturalism.<br />
The techniques of these immigrant artists are consistent with contemporaries<br />
still working in Flanders. The compositions were planned in underdrawings<br />
that made provision for all but the minor figures. Over a light-colored ground<br />
the artists established a base color for each area with a brushy underpaint;<br />
each area was then worked up with loosely painted, final details in a color<br />
that harmonized with the underpaint showing through from below. To avoid<br />
the danger of monotony in their emphasis on the brown foreground and<br />
green middle zones, the artists introduced a range of subtle variations within<br />
the harmonies of browns and greens.<br />
142<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Figure 3. Camelis Vroom, Landscape with a River by a Wood, signed and dated 1626. Panel, 31.3 X 44.2 em. National Gallery, London (3475).<br />
In Roelandt Savery's Landscape with Animals and Figures (1624), an area for<br />
the foreground group of figure and animals was held in reserve while the<br />
landscape was painted; only the small figures to the rear are painted over the<br />
landscape (Fig. 2). The foreground of this work is painted with final details<br />
in a typical transparent brown over a warm brown underpaint. In the lighter<br />
middle ground of this painting, the same transparent brown is used for the<br />
details over passages of tan underpaint; in a passage underpainted in gray, such<br />
as the stream at the left, the details are worked up in rapidly sketched strokes<br />
of darker gray paint.<br />
Landscape in Haarlem in the 1620s<br />
By the 1620s, a number of Dutch painters had taken up landscape as a specialty.<br />
In contrast to the fantasy landscapes of the Mannerists, these <strong>paintings</strong><br />
represented recognizable scenes of the local countryside. The colors are limited,<br />
the compositions rely on subtle atmospheric effects to create almost<br />
continuous recession into space, and the figures no longer play a significant<br />
role. The techniques of landscape painting in this early period are varied, but<br />
there is evidence that those Haarlem artists who were most adventuresome<br />
compositionally also incorporated new ways of handling paint, methods<br />
which became integral to the effects of the "tonal landscape" painters in the<br />
1630s.<br />
Comelis Vroom painted the Landscape with a River by a Wood, a work now<br />
in London, in 1626 (Fig. 3) . This Haarlem landscape artist did not participate<br />
in the tonal style in the next decade, but in this early landscape, Vroom<br />
modified Flemish practice to create a more subtle spatial recession with his<br />
characteristic color range dominated by browns, yellows, and grayish greens.<br />
The color of each area is established using an underpaint, following the Flem-<br />
Giff ord 143
Figure 4. Esaias van de Velde, Winter Landscape, signed and dated 1623. Panel, 25. 9 X 30.4 em. The National Gallery, London (6269).<br />
ish practice, but this underpaint is more varied, not restricted to sharply<br />
defined bands of color receding into the composition. Throughout the foreground<br />
and middle ground the underpaint is a web of grayish green and<br />
yellow passages, worked wet-into-wet.<br />
The landscape <strong>paintings</strong> of Esaias van de Velde, produced during his years in<br />
Haarlem (1609-1618) and in the Hague until his death in 1630, are central<br />
to the development of the naturalistic landscape. Though Esaias was trained<br />
by the Flemish inunigrant Gillis van Coninxloo, he developed most of the<br />
elements of technique that were to define the work of the naturalistic tonal<br />
landscapists, who included his pupils Jan van Goyen and Pieter de Neyn. This<br />
is particularly apparent in his winter scenes, where the bare landscape encourages<br />
a particularly limited tonality. The Winter Landscape of 1623, now<br />
in London, is prepared with a thinly rubbed ground that barely fills the grain<br />
of the oak panel (Fig. 4). A cross section from the upper edge of the sky<br />
shows this extremely thin layer, textured on the underside by the grain of<br />
the wood (layer 1) (Plate 32). This preparation is barely perceptible on the<br />
painting; the warm pinkish tone that dominates passages, such as the distance<br />
at the right and parts of the fo reground, is created by the wood showing<br />
through the slightly tinted ground (12). In a loose and suggestive underdrawing,<br />
the artist situated the main elements of the landscape and indicated the<br />
foliage along the horizon with a few looped strokes but made no provision<br />
for the figures (Fig. 5). Following the guide of the underdrawing, he toned<br />
144<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Figure 5. Infrared photograph of Esaias van de Velde's Winter Landscape. National Gallery, London (6269).<br />
broad areas of the cOmpOSltlOn, leaving the panel's thinly applied ground<br />
visible in places. At this stage, the sky was painted with varying concentrations<br />
of pale smalt (layers 2 and 3), and the details of the horizon were painted<br />
wet-into-wet; fo rms in the foreground were sparsely indicated with tan and<br />
gray-green underpaint. Over this underpainting the artist sketched out the<br />
details of the image in a monochrome paint ranging from gray to black, then<br />
completed the painting with a few touches of creamy mid-tones and final<br />
highlights painted wet-into-wet. When the entire landscape was complete,<br />
the artist superimposed the small figures over it, the human presence almost<br />
incidental to the depiction of a raw winter's day.<br />
The tonal landscape painters<br />
At the end of the 1620s, Jan van Goyen and two other Haarlem artists, Pieter<br />
Molijn and Salomon van Ruysdael, initiated a landscape style in which a<br />
completely convincing representation of the Dutch countryside was rendered<br />
in a deliberately limited, almost monochromatic palette. A work as late as van<br />
Goyen's View oj Dordrecht Jrom the Dordtse Kil (1644) reveals the economy of<br />
handling that typifies these works: a wet-into-wet application of the sky and<br />
horizon, followed by a sketchy monochrome design only occasionally amplified<br />
by rapid touches of lightly colored paint (Fig. 6) . The tone of the<br />
wood and the grain pattern can be seen through the thin ground; both play<br />
a role in the fmal image. The results of an earlier technical study established<br />
Gifford 145
Figure 6. Jan van Coym, View of Dordrecht from the Dordtse Kil, sigrled and dated 1644. Panel, 64. 7 X 95. 9 eln. National Callery of Art,<br />
Washil1gton, D. C. (1978. 1.11). Alicia Mellon Bruce FUl1d.<br />
that both the visible wood grain and the monochromatic palette, especially<br />
the use of almost colorless smalt in the grayish skies, resulted from conscious<br />
artistic choices rather than accident (13). The rapidity with which these works<br />
must have been painted may have had an economic motive as well, lowering<br />
the cost of production and hence enlarging the market for such works (14).<br />
Conclusion<br />
The transition from Flemish mannerist landscape to a new Dutch form of<br />
naturalistic landscape in the first decades of the seventeenth century represents<br />
a dramatic transition in style. The mode of mythological or biblical episodes<br />
set before brightly colored, imaginary vistas, which Flemish immigrants had<br />
brought north, was replaced in Holland in just a few years by subdued and<br />
sympathetic renderings of the Dutch countryside.<br />
The preliminary results of this study of the painting techniques of the period<br />
suggest that the change in style was accomplished by deliberate changes in<br />
painting technique. Dutch artists modified the conventionalized Flemish landscape<br />
technique of light grounds, complete underdrawings, and colored underpaints,<br />
which established three schematic zones of space. Instead, working<br />
from drawings made from nature, they developed a sketchy shorthand style<br />
in which the properties of their painting materials were exploited to evocative<br />
effect. Thinly applied grounds and spare applications of underpaint allowed<br />
the panels themselves to play a role in the image. Underdrawings became<br />
quick notations upon which a more complete painted "sketch" was developed,<br />
and this monochrome image, only partially colored and worked up in<br />
the final stage of painting, was a dominant part of the finished work.<br />
These developments are a fascinating illustration of the ways in which political<br />
and social changes fo ster new artistic markets. As members of Dutch society<br />
146<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
at the beginning of the seventeenth century, naturalistic landscape painters<br />
must have shared with their fellow citizens a newly awakened appreciation<br />
for the beauties of the local scene. As business people, they supplied and<br />
developed a new market governed by this taste. As practitioners of painting,<br />
they developed new working methods, which were both economical and<br />
superbly suited to expressing their new aesthetic.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Briels,J. G. C. A. 1976. De zuidnederlandse inmugrantie in Amsterdam en Haarlem<br />
omstreeks 1572-1630. PhD. diss. Rijksuniversiteit Utrecht.<br />
2. Bengtsson, A. 1952. Studies on the Rise of Realistic Landscape Painting in Holland<br />
1610-1625. Figure 3.<br />
3. Brown, C. 1986. Introduction. In Dutch Landscape, The Early Years: Haarlem and<br />
Amsterdam 1590- 1 650. Exhibition catalogue. London: The National Gallery, 11-<br />
34.<br />
4. Freedberg, D. 1980. Dutch Landscape Prints of the Seventeenth Century. London.<br />
5. I am grateful fo r the opportunity to have studied <strong>paintings</strong> in the collections of<br />
the Frans Halsmuseum, Haarlem; the National Gallery, London; the National<br />
Gallery of Art, Washington; and the Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore. I would<br />
particularly like to thank Ashok Roy of the National Gallery and Ella Hendriks<br />
of the Frans Halsmuseum for their assistance. I appreciate very much the many<br />
discussions of this material that I have had with Arthur K. Wheelock,Jr. Paintings<br />
included in the study were exanuned with a stereonLicroscope, and with X<br />
radiography and infrared reflectography, where available. Paint analysis was carried<br />
out on a linuted number of dispersed pigment samples and paint cross sections<br />
by light nLicroscopy and scanning electron nucroscopy with energy dispersive X<br />
ray spectroscopy (SEM/EDS). The compositions of paint mediums were estimated<br />
only using biological stains on the cross sections. Additional <strong>paintings</strong> were<br />
exanLined visually to study the handling of paint.<br />
6. A survey of several Dutch landscapes from the 1620s and the "tonal" period can<br />
be found in Bomford, D. Te chniques of the early Dutch landscape painters. In<br />
Brown, op. cit., 45-56.<br />
7. This painting was sampled by Feliciry Campbell during conservation treatment<br />
in 1988.<br />
8. This painting closely replicates the primary version now at the J. Paul Getry<br />
Museum, Malibu (92.PB82).<br />
9. From the samples, it is not clear whether the underdrawing lies under or over<br />
the imprimatura.<br />
10. Coninxioo died in 1607. Savery left Amsterdam for Prague, where he served the<br />
Emperor Rudolf II until about 1613, when he returned to Amsterdam. In 1619<br />
he moved to Utrecht, where he worked until his death in 1639.<br />
11. Historisches Museum der Pfalz, Speyer (H. M.1957/122). Illustrated in Sutton,<br />
p. C. 1987. Masters of Seventeenth-Century Dutch Landscape Painting. Exhibition<br />
catalogue. Amsterdam: RijksmuseuIT1; Boston: Museum of Fine Arts; Philadelphia<br />
Museum of Fine Arts. Plate 1.<br />
12. A ground of black, toned with a little yellow earth and rubbed into the poplar<br />
support, was observed on the original section of Farms Flanking a Frozen Canal,<br />
1614, North Carolina Museum of Art, Raleigh (52.9.61). See Goist, D. C. 1990.<br />
Case study of an early Dutch landscape. lCOM Committee fo r Conservation preprints,<br />
9th Triennial Meeting, 648-52.<br />
13. Gifford, E. M. 1983. A technical investigation of some Dutch seventeenth-century<br />
tonal landscapes. AlC preprints, 39-49.<br />
14. Montias,J. M. 1987. Cost and value in seventeenth-century Dutch art. Art History<br />
10:455-66.<br />
Gifford 147
Abstract<br />
Through extensive study of Vermeer's<br />
<strong>paintings</strong>, the author demonstrates<br />
that the artist must have used<br />
a chalk line attached to a pin at the<br />
vanishing point in the painting to<br />
create the central perspective in his<br />
pictures. By studying the changes in<br />
the design of the central perspective<br />
throughout his oeuvre, a certain<br />
chronology appears. This conclusion<br />
contradicts the previously accepted<br />
beliefs that Vermeer's interiors were<br />
faithful portraits of actual rooms or<br />
that the use of a camera obscura explained<br />
the realism of his interiors.<br />
Johannes Vermeer (1632-1675) and His Use<br />
of Perspective<br />
J orgen Wadum<br />
Mauritshuis<br />
Korte Vijverberg 8<br />
p. O. Box 536, 2501 eM Den Haag<br />
The Netherlands<br />
Introduction<br />
After visiting Vermeer on 21 June 1669, the art collector Pieter Teding van<br />
Berckhout noted in his diary that, among the examples of Vermeer's art he<br />
had seen, the most extraordinary and curious were those showing perspective<br />
(1). Three-dimensional interiors, depicted on two-dimensional canvases in<br />
such a way that the eye is deceived into believing the spatial illusion, were<br />
greatly admired by litjhebbers (connoisseurs) in the seventeenth century. The<br />
appreciation of perspective was underlined by the fact that these <strong>paintings</strong><br />
had to be executed by artists who were sufficiently technically competent to<br />
be able to create these effects convincingly (2). Architectural pictures or "perspectives"<br />
were therefore often much more expensive than other genres.<br />
Montias documented that around 1650, the price fo r a perspective was fairly<br />
high, at an average of25.9 guilders apiece, while landscapes sold for an average<br />
of 5.6 guilders each (3). The Delft architecture painter Hendrik van Vliet (ca.<br />
161 1-1675) could have observed that one of his perspectives, in the estate of<br />
the art dealer Johannes de Renialme in Amsterdam at his death in 1657, was<br />
valued at 190 guilders (4).<br />
Montias states that despite the fact that interior scenes could also rightfully<br />
be called perspectives, he never came across a description of one in the many<br />
inventories he examined (5). All the more interesting then is the comment<br />
van Berckhout made after visiting Vermeer's atelier.<br />
When the inventory of Vermeer's estate was carried out after his premature<br />
death in 1675, a number of books in folio were found in his back room<br />
together with twenty-five other books of various kinds. Among the easels<br />
and canvases in his atelier, three bundles of all sorts of prints were found (6).<br />
It might be interesting to speculate what these books and prints were about,<br />
but we shall never know. It is conceivable, however, that some of them were<br />
guides to perspective drawing, works either by Hans Vredeman de Vries<br />
(1526 or 1527-1606) or those published by S. Marolois (ca. 1572-1627),<br />
Hendrik Hondius (1573-1649), and F. Desargues (1593-1662) (7, 8, 9, 10). It<br />
can be seen in the perspective design extrapolated from his <strong>paintings</strong> that<br />
Vermeer was certainly familiar with the principles laid out in these manuals<br />
on perspective.<br />
Unfortunately, nothing is known about Vermeer's apprenticeship. Therefore<br />
one must turn to an extensive examination of his <strong>paintings</strong> in order to gain<br />
an impression of the development of his method of rendering space.<br />
State of research<br />
Over the years many studies have been made of Vermeer's use of perspective<br />
and his spatial constructions, only a few of which shall be referred to here.<br />
Early this century, Eisler made an extensive study of Vermeer's use of space,<br />
and he describes the complicated use of triangles, circles, squares, and diagonals<br />
that may have fo rmed the basis fo r Vermeer's pictures (11).<br />
Probably inspired by Wilenski, who in 1928 wrote about some special effects<br />
in photography, " . .. perhaps one of the ironies of art history [is] that with<br />
a Kodak any child might now produce by accident a composition that a great<br />
148<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
artist like Vermeer had to use all his ingenuity ... to achieve ... ," Swill ens<br />
published his first detailed study of the <strong>paintings</strong> in 1929. Swillens concluded<br />
that Vermeer had painted his oeuvre in five different rooms, all thoroughly<br />
recorded (12, 13). In another publication on Vermeer in 1950, he further<br />
elaborated his views on Vermeer's use of spatial illusion and his realistic recording<br />
of space (14). Swillens illustrated how Vermeer depicted his interiors<br />
with great accuracy. The position or eye level of the artist was established<br />
and thus the height of Vermeer himself and of the chair on which he almost<br />
always sat when painting. The work of Swillens, and belief that Vermeer<br />
rendered what he actually saw in front of him, has had a major influence on<br />
the scholarly research on Vermeer.<br />
Even in the 1940s, Hyatt Mayor records that highlights in the foreground in<br />
some of Vermeer's <strong>paintings</strong> "break up into dots like globules of halation<br />
swimming on a ground glass," and a few years later Gowing reached the<br />
conclusion that Vermeer had used a camera obscura (15, 16).<br />
In his studies, Seymour continues with this thought, which, apart from halation<br />
around highlights, he based on specific phenomena in the <strong>paintings</strong>,<br />
such as the diffusion of the contours (17). He also found that the perspective<br />
in certain <strong>paintings</strong> resembled the distortion obtained when using a wideangle<br />
lens.<br />
Prompted by Seymour's article, Schwarz fu rther suggested that Vermeer may<br />
have used the camera obscura as a technical aid in his painting process (18).<br />
Bearing testimony to Vermeer's use of technical devices for rendering his<br />
images, wrote Schwarz, is the fact that the mathematician and physicist Balthasar<br />
de Monconys (1611-1665) attempted to visit Vermeer during his stay<br />
in Delft in 1663, and that a friendship probably existed between Vermeer and<br />
fellow townsman Anthony van Leeuwenhoek (1632-1723), a specialist in<br />
microscopes and lenses.<br />
There is a tendency to consider mathematicians otherwise uninvolved in the<br />
creation of visual arts as responsible for developing an intellectual interest in<br />
perspective. However, this view was probably not shared by the artists, who,<br />
fo r their part, were using the simplest and at the same time most convincing<br />
methods to create their spatial illusions. We are therefore entitled to believe<br />
that, as de Monconys was also an art collector, it would be much more likely<br />
that he wanted to pay Vermeer a visit in order to see his renowned <strong>paintings</strong><br />
or perspectives (19). Vermeer was also the Headman of the Guild of St. Luke<br />
at the time, and he would naturally be the person for an art collector to see<br />
when visiting the town.<br />
In 1968 Mocquot suggested that Vermeer might have used double mirrors<br />
to create his perspectives, both in his Allegory of Painting and in The Concert<br />
(20, 21, 22).<br />
Finck claimed in 1971 to be able to prove that twenty-seven <strong>paintings</strong> by<br />
Vermeer must have been made with the aid of a camera obscura (23). The<br />
arguments presented here will make it clear that this highly ambitious thesis<br />
has no basis in reality.<br />
Wheelock undertook the most detailed study of the optics and perspectives<br />
used by Delft painters around 1650 (24). It is argued that some of Vermeer's<br />
pictures (although far fewer than is asserted by Finck) do indeed have many<br />
effects similar to that which can be achieved using lenses or a camera obscura,<br />
and therefore the use of these devices seems highly probable. Wheelock does<br />
make clear, however, that the use of a camera obscura would be extremely<br />
difficult indoors because the light levels were generally insufficient to obtain<br />
an image. In more recent publications, Wheelock increasingly argues that<br />
Vermeer probably did not trace images seen through a camera obscura, but<br />
that he must have been aware of the device and used certain special effects<br />
seen through it for his <strong>paintings</strong>.<br />
Wadum 149
Based on intensive studies of various means used to create " church portraits,"<br />
de Boer concluded in 1988 that optical devices were not generally used by<br />
artists in the Netherlands around 1650 (25). Interestingly, he notes that the<br />
reason for this would probably be the difficulty of combining the use of a<br />
camera obscura (for tracing an image) with actually painting a painting.<br />
Recently, Arasse made a general comparison of the position of the horizon<br />
and the viewpoint in Vermeer <strong>paintings</strong> (26). He notes that the viewpoint<br />
gradually lowered between 1656 and 1661. According to Arasse, Vermeer<br />
tended to combine a low viewpoint with a high horizon. Arasse considers<br />
the often very low viewpoint in relation to the depicted figures to be a special<br />
effect that Vermeer deliberately wanted to create in order to draw the viewer<br />
into the scenes. This statement shows that Arasse considers Vermeer's intention<br />
to be the creation of an illusionistic spatial setting as an imaginative<br />
process rather than the rendering of a known space, an opinion this author<br />
shares.<br />
Present research<br />
In the following paragraphs, results from the author's latest research on this<br />
aspect of Vermeer's painting technique are presented. Through a thorough<br />
study of the actual <strong>paintings</strong>, mostly out of their frames and placed under a<br />
stereomicroscope, certain surface phenomena in the paint layer have been<br />
observed. Together with X-radiographs and other photoanalytical means such<br />
as ultraviolet and infrared photography, a compilation of information has been<br />
possible, leading to the conclusion that Vermeer did not paint "naar het leven"<br />
(after life), as suggested by the majority of scholars mentioned above, but that<br />
as a craftsman he created a spatial illusion with the masterly hand of an<br />
outstanding artist.<br />
In 1949 Hulten was the first to actually record a discernible vanishing point<br />
in one of Vermeer's <strong>paintings</strong>. He observed that just below the left knob of<br />
the map hanging on the rear wall in The Allegory of Painting there was a small<br />
irregularity in the paint layer which coincided with the central vanishing<br />
point of the composition (27).<br />
Indeed, fo r Vermeer the central perspective was the main guideline for his<br />
interiors. Current examinations reveal that the vanishing point can still be<br />
fo und in most of his interior scenes (28). It can be seen (with the naked eye<br />
or more easily with a stereomicroscope) that Vermeer must have attached a<br />
pin at the vanishing point in the painting, resulting in the loss of minuscule<br />
amounts of paint and ground. X-radiographs can be used to find the black<br />
spot where the ground containing lead white is missing between the threads<br />
of the canvas. Having inserted the pin at the vanishing point, Vermeer would<br />
have used a string to reach any area of his canvas to create perfect orthogonals<br />
for the perspective.<br />
Vermeer's method is far from unique; among the architectural painters of his<br />
time it was well known. Gererd Houckgeest (1600-1661) and Emanuel de<br />
Witte (1617-1 692) practiced this method, which Pieter Saenredam (1597-<br />
1665) had already brought to perfection (29, 30). Vermeer's slightly older<br />
colleague Pieter de Hooch (1629-1683) also used a single vanishing point.<br />
Similarly, in <strong>paintings</strong> by Gerard Dou (1613-1675), Gabriel Metsu (ca. 1629-<br />
1667), and others, we again find irregularities in the paint where a pin was<br />
placed at the vanishing point.<br />
The method of using a chalk line to indicate lines is still used by painters<br />
and other artists when planning illusionistic interiors (e.g., with marbling, a<br />
specialty developed during the Baroque period) . That this kind of illusionistic<br />
painting was known to Vermeer is clear from the virginals in the two London<br />
<strong>paintings</strong>, both of which have been "marbled."<br />
In order to transfer the line indicated by the string, chalk is applied to the<br />
string. Holding the string taut from the pin inserted at the vanishing point,<br />
150<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Figure 1. Perspective drawing of Vermeer's Glass of Wine, 1658-1660.<br />
the painter draws the string up a little from the surface, using the free hand,<br />
and lets it snap back onto the canvas. The powdery chalk is thus applied to<br />
the surface of the painting; the line can be traced with a pencil or brush. The<br />
remaining dust can be gently wiped or blown away, leaving little or no trace<br />
of the method except the pin point.<br />
The distance points, positioned on either side of the vanishing point on the<br />
horizon, provide the basis fo r the diagonals, which in turn form the basis of<br />
the tiled floors. Distortion occurs at the corners if the horizon is placed<br />
relatively high and the distance points are close to the vanishing point. Examples<br />
of this are observed in the Glass of Wine (1658-1660), with its viewing<br />
angle of approximately 43° (Fig. 1), and the Girl with The Wine Glass (1659-<br />
1660), which has an even smaller angle of approximately 35° (31, 32). The<br />
Music Lesson (1662-1665), in which Vermeer again returns to a large angle,<br />
(approximately 44°), is the last picture in his oeuvre to show a certain distortion<br />
of the floor tiles due to the short interval from the distance points<br />
(33). In The Concert (1665-1666), the angle again returns to about 34°; in The<br />
Allegory of Painting (1666-1667), the viewing angle has decreased to around<br />
30° (Fig. 2). In The Love Letter (1667-1670) the angle declines to about 28°,<br />
and in the last painting executed by his hand, A Lady Seated at the Virginals<br />
(1673-1675), Vermeer reduces the viewing angle to only 22° (Fig. 3) (34,<br />
35).<br />
A growing tendency can clearly be observed over the years to let the distance<br />
points move further away from the scene. By doing this, Vermeer eliminated<br />
the distortion of the floor tiles in the foreground corners, particularly as he<br />
moved his vanishing point toward the edge of the painting at the same time.<br />
As the vanishing point can still be identified in many of Vermeer's pictures,<br />
his method of using threads attached to a pin inserted at the central point is<br />
evident. The distance points, however, could constitute a problem. Would he<br />
be able to determine the position of the diagonals on the edge of his canvas<br />
when space recedes towards the back walls in his interiors? This is hardly<br />
Figure 2. Perspective drawing of Vermeer's Allegory of Painting, 1666-1 667.<br />
Wadum 151
Figure 3. Perspective drawing of Vermeer's A Lady Seated at the Virginals, 1673- 1675.<br />
likely because it would imply doing unnecessary calculations, and indeed no<br />
trace of marks on the edges of his <strong>paintings</strong> has so far surfaced.<br />
If there were a simple method of creating perfect central-point perspective,<br />
painters would surely have used it. By placing the canvas against a board (most<br />
of his <strong>paintings</strong> are small) or a wall, between two nails on either side of the<br />
painting, the painter would be able to use strings for the diagonals as well.<br />
Indications of the use of such a simple method may be deduced from books<br />
on perspective that might have been known to Vermeer. Desargues writes in<br />
his introduction that a painter who wants to know more about the Meetkonst<br />
(the art of measurement) should consult the Landmeeter (the cartographer)<br />
in order to make use of his expertise (36) . This, he writes, would lead<br />
to a better understanding of perspective or Doorsicht-kunde. Desargues further<br />
suggests that the painter should look around him in other guilds to take<br />
advantage of the knowledge of carpenters, bricklayers, and cabinetmakers.<br />
Furthermore, it appears that constructors of perspective in the seventeenth<br />
century were using drawing tables almost as sophisticated as the ones we use<br />
today. With strings attached to the upper corners of the drawing table, the<br />
draftsman could create any orthogonals he wanted on his paper. The horizon<br />
could be plotted using a sliding ruler at a fixed 90° angle to the horizontal<br />
bottom edge of the table. A horizon would be chosen at the desired level on<br />
this ruler, and by sliding the ruler across the paper, a line could be drawn<br />
(37).<br />
Vermeer also worked in this way, as is proven by the presence of the clearly<br />
distinguishable needle point found in the paint in <strong>paintings</strong> throughout his<br />
whole oeuvre (38).<br />
Conclusion<br />
The extraordinary and curious perspectives, so much admired by van Berckhout<br />
in 1669, therefore appear to have been carefully constructed. This leaves<br />
the impression that Vermeer should be regarded first and foremost as a practical<br />
and skilled master in creating space just the way he wanted it. This<br />
approach departs from the previous conception of the artist as reproducing<br />
the scenes he saw in front of him, either by careful copying using drawing<br />
frames or a camera obscura. The author believes that Vermeer was completely<br />
aware of the spatial illusion he wanted to create, which he produced by<br />
combining his skill in constructing space with his artistic talent fo r composition,<br />
color, technique, and iconography (39). He thereby created his images<br />
in such a way that viewers are deceived into believing that the scenes were<br />
real. This was the highest level of artistic ambition to which a seventeenthcentury<br />
painter could aspire, a level Vermeer surely attained.<br />
Acknowledgments<br />
Most sincere thanks are due to the institutes that have been more than generous in<br />
supplying information about their Vermeer <strong>paintings</strong> and letting the author examine<br />
most of them in the conservation studios. The amount of information is overwhelming<br />
and goes well beyond the scope of this article; the reader is referred to the<br />
fo rthcoming exhibition catalogue on Johannes Vermeer (Washington, 1995; The<br />
152<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Hague, 1996). The author is also grateful to Rob Ruurs of the University of Amsterdam<br />
for a fruitful and stimulating discussion.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Van Berckhout may have been able to see the two town views, The Little Street<br />
and The View of Delft, and certainly interior scenes such as The Music Lesson, A<br />
Woman Holding a Balance, The Concert, and The Allegory of Painting. He might<br />
have also seen The Love Letter, which is dated 1667 (Blankert) or 1669-1670<br />
(Wheelock).<br />
2. Ruurs, R. 1991. Functies van architectuurschildering, in het bijzonder het kerkinterieur.<br />
Perspectieven: Saenredam en de architectuurschilders van de 17e eeuw: Boymans-van<br />
Beuningen Rotterdam, 50.<br />
3. Montias, J. M. 1991. "Perspectieven" in zeventiende-eeuwse boedelbeschrijvingen.<br />
Perspectiven: Saenredam en de architectuurschilders van de 17e eeuw: Boymansvan<br />
Beuningen Rotterdam, 28.<br />
4. Bredius, A. 1915-1922. Kunstler-Inventare, Urkunden zur Cesichte der Hollandischen<br />
Kunst des XVIten, XVIIten und XVIIItenjahrhunderts 1-7. Den Haag.Vol. 1:238.<br />
5. Montias, op. cit., 24.<br />
6. Montias, J. M. 1989. Vermeer and his Milieu: A Web of Social History. Princeton,<br />
339 (doc. 364).<br />
7. Vredeman de Vries, H. 1604. Perspective. Dat is de hoochgheroemde cOl'lste . . . . Den<br />
Haag.<br />
8. Marolois, S. 1628. Perspective contenant la tMorie, pratique et instructionfondamentale<br />
d'icelle. Amsterdam.<br />
9. Hondius, H. 1647. Crondige onderrichten in de optica of de perspective konste. Amsterdam.<br />
10. Bosse, A. 1664. Franfois Desargues. Algemene manier tot de practyck der perspective<br />
gelyck tot die der meet-kunde met de kleyn voet-maat [ ... J by-een-gevoeght door. Amsterdam.<br />
11. Eisler, M. 1916. Der Raum bei Jan Vermeer. jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen<br />
der Allerhachsten Kaiserhauses. Wi en-Leipzig: Band XXXIII (4):213-91.<br />
12. Wilenski, R. H. 1928. An introduction to Dutch Art. New York, 284-86.<br />
13. Swillens, P. T. A. 1929. Een perspectivische studie over de schilderijen van Johannes<br />
Vermeer van Delft. Oude Kunst (7): 129-61.<br />
14. Swillens, P. T. A. 1950.joharmes Vermeer, Painter of Delft 1632-1675. Utrecht<br />
Brussels.<br />
15. Hyatt Mayor, A. 1946. The photographic eye. The Metropolitan Museum of Art<br />
Bulletin (5):15-26.<br />
16. Gowing, L. 1953. Vermeer.<br />
17. Seymour Jr., C. 1964. Dark chamber and light-filled room: Vermeer and the<br />
camera obscura. The Art Bulletin XLVI (3):323-31.<br />
18. Schwarz, H. 1966. Vermeer and the camera obscura. Pantheon (XXIV): 170-82.<br />
19. De Monconys visited numerous artists during his travels all over Europe to meet<br />
with fellow scientists.<br />
20. Mocquot, M. 1968. Vermeer et Ie portrait en double mirror. Le club franfaise de<br />
la medaille 18 (1):58-69.<br />
21. Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.<br />
22. Isabella Steward Gardner Museum, Boston.<br />
23. Finck, D. 1971. Vermeer's use of the camera obscura: a comparative study. The<br />
Art Bulletin. (LIII):493-505.<br />
24. Wheelock Jr., A. K. 1977. Perspective, Optics, and Delft Artists Around 1650. New<br />
York.<br />
25. de Boer, P. G. 1988. Enkele Delftse zeventiende eeuwse kerkportretten opnieuw bekekert.<br />
Dissertatie: Delft.<br />
26. Arasse, D. 1994. The Art of Painting. Paris.<br />
27. Hulten, K. G. 1949. Zu Vermeer's Atelierbild. Konsthistorisk Tidskrift (XVIII):90-<br />
98.<br />
28. The first pin hole we discovered in the vanishing point of a Vermeer painting<br />
was in the Lady Writing a Letter with her Maid from the National Gallery of<br />
Ireland. We are grateful to Andrew O'Connor, chief conservator of the gallery,<br />
fo r letting us examine the painting just after its recent rediscovery.<br />
29. Ruurs, R. 1987. Saertredam: The Art of Perspective. Amsterdam, Philadelphia, Gronmgen.<br />
30. Giltaij, J. 1991. Perspectiven, Saenredam en de architectuurschilders van de 17e<br />
eeuw. Perspectiven: Saemedam en de architectuurschilders van de 17e eeuw: Boymansvan<br />
Beuningen Rotterdam, 16.<br />
Wadum 153
31. Herzog Anton Ulrick-Museum, Braunschweig.<br />
32. Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preul3ischer Kulturbesitz, Gemaldegalerie, Berlin-<br />
Dahlem.<br />
33. H. M. Queen Elizabeth II, Royal Collection, London.<br />
34. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.<br />
35. The National Gallery, London.<br />
36. Bosse, op. cit.<br />
37. Ibid.<br />
38. From Offi cer and Laughing Girl, ca. 1658 (The Frick Collection, New York) , to<br />
A Young Woman Standing at the Virginal, ca. 1673-1675 (The National Gallery,<br />
London).<br />
39. See fo rthcoming exhibition catalogue on Johannes Vermeer (Washington, 1995;<br />
The Hague, 1996), in which various aspects of Vermeer's <strong>paintings</strong> are examined.<br />
154<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Abstract<br />
The paper presents some results of<br />
research on the painting materials<br />
and methods used in Latvian<br />
churches in the seventeenth century.<br />
The technical research of <strong>historical</strong><br />
painting techniques in Latvia is rather<br />
preliminary. The authors concentrate<br />
on the polychromy of the interior<br />
decorations. Results of the<br />
analysis of materials and techniques<br />
used in the decorations are given,<br />
stressing the varieties as a result of<br />
the various interpretations of the Baroque<br />
style and technique in different<br />
regions of Latvia.<br />
A Technical Study of the Materials and Methods<br />
Used by the Painters of the Latvian Churches<br />
in the Seventeenth Century<br />
Ilze Poriete*<br />
Restoration Centre History<br />
Museum of Latvia<br />
Vecpilsetas 7<br />
Riga, LV 1050<br />
Latvia<br />
Dace Choldere<br />
State Culture Monuments Department of Latvia<br />
Klostera 5<br />
Riga, LV 1050<br />
Latvia<br />
Introduction<br />
In the second half of the seventeenth century, the territory of Latvia was<br />
ruled by several different monarchs and was therefore divided into areas of<br />
various influences. From the middle of the sixteenth century, the western part<br />
was ruled by the Duke ofKurzeme an Zemgale; after the Polish-Swedish war<br />
the southeastern part (Latgale) was subject to the Polish king and the northeastern<br />
part (Vidzeme) to the Swedish king. These conditions influenced the<br />
production of Latvian art. Created by artists coming from various parts of<br />
Europe, general styles and tendencies were interpreted in various ways (1).<br />
Therefore, the objects of this survey-the churches and their pulpits in Nurmuizha<br />
and Burtnieki, both decorated in the 1680s and representative of the<br />
Baroque-illustrate two different styles using very different techniques and<br />
materials.<br />
Figure 1. The pulpit and the altar of the<br />
Nurmuizha church bifore restoration. Photograph<br />
by M. B. Vanaga and R. Kanins.<br />
Figure 2. The pulpit of the Burtnieki church<br />
bifore restoration. Photograph by M. B.<br />
Vanaga and R. Kanins.<br />
The church of Nurmuizha is located in the territory of Kurzeme and was<br />
founded in 1594; however, the present interior dates from the 1680s. Twisted<br />
columns with rich decorative carvings and many sculptures portraying disciples<br />
of Christ decorate the pulpit and the church interior. A sculpture of<br />
Moses functions as support for the pulpit. The artist who executed the wood<br />
carving is unknown but his style indicates an eastern Prussian origin. Although<br />
written contemporary sources do not shed any light on when the<br />
decorations were painted, one must assume that it was carried out in the<br />
1680s. Later repairs are relatively extensive, including additional wood carvings<br />
and <strong>paintings</strong> executed by different craftsmen, such as gilders and interior<br />
painters (Fig. 1).<br />
The church of Burtnieki is located in the northeastern part of Latvia which<br />
was under the rule of the Swedish king. Here, the basic construction of the<br />
pulpit is very similar to construction of the pulpit in Nurmuizha, but the<br />
decoration is more restricted, rational, and even classical. Baroque influences<br />
arrived here by many different routes, thus resulting in a large variety of<br />
interpretations. In both churches, pulpits are situated under the arch of triumph.<br />
In Burtnieki, however, the pulpit's construction is polygonal with<br />
straight stairs, and the columns are not twisted but straight and narrow. The<br />
sides of the stairs are decorated with panels separated by pilasters instead of<br />
columns. Instead of sculptures, there are <strong>paintings</strong> on the panels between the<br />
columns, all representing scenes from the New Testament. In contemporary<br />
documents (1691), it is noted that the altar and the pulpit were painted and<br />
outlined with silver. During the present restoration, a rather neutral overpainting<br />
was removed, revealing the original decorative painting, which shows<br />
* Author to whom correspondence should be addressed.<br />
Poriete and Choldere 155
marbled columns, multicolored <strong>paintings</strong> on the panels, and blue and silver<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> on the podium. The identities of the artists are unknown (Fig. 2).<br />
Methods<br />
Analysis of the pigments was carried out combining optical microscopy, microchemical<br />
tests, and emission spectroanalysis (2, 3). Media were determined<br />
by the use of thin-layer chromatography, infrared spectroscopy, and microchemical<br />
tests (4, 5, 6) .<br />
Materials and results<br />
Technical analysis from paint samples was executed to reveal the original layer<br />
of the pulpit of the Nurmuizha church. Samples were taken from the background<br />
and profiles of the pulpit's twisted columns (now black) and from the<br />
decorative wood carvings of grapes, masks, and reliefs (now gold) . The results<br />
indicate that the ground layer consists of an unpigmented calcium carbonate<br />
bound with an animal glue, as was shown by staining tests. In the cross section,<br />
the ground layer is shown as a white layer with some small brown glue<br />
particles. On a thin transparent layer in which protein has been fo und, there<br />
is a black layer with occasional particles of a blue pigment. The few blue<br />
particles present are transparent; a positive identification of the pigment was<br />
impossible. Later over<strong>paintings</strong> are executed in black, containing charcoal and<br />
oil. The decorative vines are gilded. The underlayer is composed of calcium<br />
carbonate and glue. In the cross section, a layer of brown hematite is visible<br />
and the presence of glue particles was determined with staining tests. On top<br />
of the gilding there is a layer of mordant gilding: oil pigmented with ochre<br />
and minium, the latter probably acting as a drying agent. The bronze layer<br />
on the pigmented oil layer was applied much later.<br />
Figure 3. Cross section if paint sample from<br />
part if the flesh color on a sculpture in the<br />
Nurmuizha church. The layers are as follows:<br />
(1) thin pink ground, (2) main paint layer<br />
containing lead white and ochre, (3) transparent<br />
layer containing oil, (4-8) overpaints.<br />
Photograph by M. B. Vanaga and R. Kanins.<br />
Samples were taken from the clothes, hair, and flesh color of one sculpture<br />
on the pulpit (Fig. 3) . The analyses showed that the gilded wrap was executed<br />
in a water-gilding technique, while the dress itself was originally blue. The<br />
blue layer consists oflead white and smalt with tempera as a binding medium<br />
on a chalk-glue ground layer (7). Analysis of the samples taken suggests that<br />
the pulpit had water-gilded, wood-carving details on a blue background. The<br />
same blue color is also fo und in other details of the church's decoration (the<br />
altar and the decorative ledge). Later over<strong>paintings</strong>, however, have penetrated<br />
the original, damaged layer, changing it and making a correct analysis difficult.<br />
During the technical investigation of the pulpit of Burtnieki church, samples<br />
were taken from parts that were well conserved: the background of the pulpit's<br />
construction, the podium's decorative ledge, the decorative grapes, the roof,<br />
and the pelican. The results of the analysis show that the pink background<br />
contains hematite and occasional particles of calcium carbonate (CaC03) in<br />
oil (Fig. 4). Colors from the original marbling are revealed in the background<br />
(smalt, indigo, hematite, charcoal black, and copper resinate). Decorative elements<br />
are silvered, such as the silver leaves, which were glazed with copper<br />
resinate over the pink underlayer (hematite, oil).<br />
Figure 4. Cross section if paint sample from<br />
part if the podium in the Burtnieki church.<br />
The layers are as follows: (1) thin pink<br />
ground, (2) layer of silver leaves, (3) green<br />
layer containing cupric resinate, (4-8) overpaints.<br />
Photograph by M. B. Vanaga and<br />
R. Kanins.<br />
The decorative bunch of grapes is painted in a dark blue layer containing<br />
indigo, smalt, and oil, and the green leaves are executed in a green glaze<br />
(copper resinate, oil, gum) over silver leaf applied in an oil-based mordant<br />
technique. The decorative details of the pulpit's baldachin have the same<br />
preparatory ground layer as the podium. The marbling is carried out as described<br />
above. The silvering is done using an oil mordant and subsequently<br />
glazed. In some places the silver is covered with colorful glazes (i.e., the drops<br />
of blood on the pelican are executed in an organic red glaze on silver). In<br />
summary, the decorative painting of the Burtnieki church shows a rich polychromy<br />
and is executed in an oil medium.<br />
156<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Summary<br />
We can conclude after this preliminary investigation that many differences<br />
between the two pulpits are present, although they both date from the same<br />
period. Two types of grounds were found; in the Nurmuizha pulpit, chalkglue<br />
ground is used, while in the Burtnieki pulpit a ground of ochre in oil<br />
is present. The pigments are similar in that they are probably the most commonly<br />
used pigments in Latvia during that period. During previous investigations<br />
of blue colors in the polychromy of seventeenth-century Latvian<br />
churches, two pigments were always present: indigo and smalt. Natural ultramarine<br />
has been found in very few cases.<br />
Details in the decoration of the Nurmuizha church are executed using a<br />
water-gilding technique. It is impossible to determine if a varnish or glaze is<br />
present, as the next gilding layer is applied in an oil-based mordant technique<br />
that fully blends with the first gilded layer.<br />
The decorative wood carvings of the Burtnieki church are silvered and in<br />
some places covered with colored glazes.<br />
Different hands are present in both churches, as during the seventeenth century<br />
in Latvia there was a continuous migration of craftspersons. A gilderpainter<br />
could have been called from any workshop, especially in rural areas,<br />
introducing that workshop's typical techniques and materials. It is not suggested<br />
that the described methods were the most common in Latvia. Any<br />
concrete conclusions can only be made after fu rther investigations in Latvia,<br />
and after a comparison with methods used in other parts in Europe.<br />
Acknowledgments<br />
The authors are grateful to polychrome wooden sculpture restorers S. Rugevica and<br />
1. Pukse fo r the samples and for their help with the work. Thanks are due to M.<br />
Harris for editing the manuscript.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Grosmane, E. 1981. Ventspils koktelnieki 17.gs otra puse- 18.gs.sakums. Riga, Zinatne,<br />
46-61.<br />
2. Microscope MBI-15 (USSR), magnification x160.<br />
3. Emission spectroscopy was carried out by A. Deme, an assistant of the spectroscopy<br />
laboratory of Latvia University.<br />
4. Striegel, M. E, and D. Stulik. 1993. High performance thin-layer chromatography<br />
fo r the identification of binding media: techniques and applications. In AIC Preprints.<br />
5. Infrared spectroscopy was carried out by 1. Gudele, an assistant at Riga Technical<br />
University.<br />
6. Martin, E. 1977. Some improvements in techniques of analysis of paint media.<br />
Studies in Conservation 22:63-67.<br />
7. The definition is in process.<br />
Poriete and Choldere 157
Abstract<br />
The shift in the nineteenth century<br />
from a tradition of artist-prepared<br />
materials to an industry of mass-produced<br />
commercial products greatly<br />
endangered the artistic community<br />
through the widespread distribution<br />
of products of inferior quality and<br />
unstable properties. For over fifty<br />
years, the British Pre-Raphaelite<br />
painter William Holman Hunt<br />
waged a campaign fo r the reform of<br />
the manufacture of artists' materials<br />
and the rights of the artist as a consumer<br />
to expect materials of consistent<br />
quality and uniformity. The reevaluation<br />
of the Pre-Raphaelite<br />
technique, in conjunction with an<br />
exploration of Hunt's advocacy on<br />
behalf of artist-consumers, places in<br />
perspective his focus on artistic<br />
traditions at a crucial transition time<br />
in the history of materials and tech<br />
TUques.<br />
William Holman Hunt and the<br />
"Pre-Raphaelite Technique"<br />
Melissa R. Katz<br />
Davis Museum and Cultural Center<br />
Wellesley ColJege<br />
Wellesley, Massachusetts 02181<br />
USA<br />
Introduction<br />
The late-eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries in British painting constitute<br />
a period noted for the rise of a major school of national painting,<br />
dominated by masters such as Sir Joshua Reynolds, Thomas Gainsborough,<br />
and J. M. W. Turner, who engaged in technical experiments of dubious value.<br />
Their reliance on gelled mediums, bituminous paints, and fugitive pigments,<br />
respectively, has left a body of work disfigured by sunken patches, wide craquelure,<br />
and faded color. In search of shortcuts to achieve the luminous glow<br />
of the old masters, they produced, instead, <strong>paintings</strong> whose technical inadequacies<br />
were known and seen by the generation that followed.<br />
This next generation of painters included the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood,<br />
formed in 1848 in radical opposition to the training and taste imposed on<br />
British art by the Royal Academy. Hunt was a fo unding brother, and the only<br />
one of the group to maintain a lifelong adherence to their principles of<br />
fidelity to nature minutely observed, boldness in color and lighting, emulation<br />
of early Italian painting, and depiction of contemporary or literary subject<br />
matter. Yet the rebellion was short-lived, and the Pre-Raphaelites rapidly<br />
became the leading painters of their day, with Hunt as one of the most<br />
popular.<br />
By the 1870s Hunt's position was assured as the celebrated painter of such<br />
Victorian icons as The Light oj the World, The Awakening Conscience, and The<br />
Finding if the Saviour in the Temple (Figs. 1,2, 3). Periods spent in the Middle<br />
East seeking Biblical authenticity alternated with spells in pleasant, wellequipped<br />
London studios where, liberated from hand-to-mouth struggle, he<br />
was free to contemplate other aspects of art as a career (Figs. 4, 5). The stability<br />
and longevity of his <strong>paintings</strong> were of primary concern to Hunt, who observed<br />
not only the technical inadequacies of the preceding generation, but<br />
also the poor aging qualities of the artworks of his contemporaries.<br />
Nineteenth-century commercial artists' materials<br />
Hunt was among the first artists to note the increasingly poor quality of the<br />
artists' materials fo r sale in the mid-nineteenth century, and the most vociferous<br />
in calling attention to their faults and advocating their improvement.<br />
From the platform of leading painter of his day, he set out on a crusade to<br />
reform the manufacture of artists' materials, to impose standards of quality<br />
and workmanship, and to ensure access to consistently reliable products from<br />
colormen informed of and interested in the durability of the goods they were<br />
selling.<br />
Figure 1. William Holman Hunt in his studio,<br />
painting the St. Paul's versioll q{The<br />
Light of the World, ca. 1900.<br />
The market fo r artists' materials in the early and mid-nineteenth century had<br />
changed overwhelmingly with the advent of industrial production and mass<br />
marketing, and the rapid introduction and adaptation of newly developed<br />
materials whose aging properties were unknown. Prior to the nineteenth<br />
century, artists had used materials prepared fo r them in their own studios or<br />
by local artisans who followed the exacting standards of their clients, allowing<br />
the artist to determine the materials used and methods of preparation. With<br />
the rise of the commercial colorman in an age of burgeoning capitalism, a<br />
middleman was introduced between the manufacturer and the consumer of<br />
158<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
the product, a salesman motivated by the need for profit and immediate shortterm<br />
customer satisfaction rather than long-term stability.<br />
The evolution of the art nurket also brought with it an expansion of materials<br />
available fo r sale, aided by advances in scientific fields that greatly expanded<br />
the range of available pigments and dyestuffs. The artist's palette roughly doubled<br />
in the nineteenth century, each decade bringing new colors, starting<br />
with cobalt blue and lemon yellow. In the early part of the century, iodine<br />
scarlet, chrome yellow, and emerald green were introduced; and, in the 1820s,<br />
synthetic ultramarine became available. Zinc oxide (Chinese white) and viridian<br />
came in the 1830s, and cadmium yellow and orange followed in the<br />
1840s. The 1850s brought the aniline dyes, brilliantly colored and wildly<br />
impermanent coal-tar derivatives. The 1860s saw the dawn of aureolin yellow,<br />
chromium oxide green, synthetic alizarin, manganese violet, cerulean blue,<br />
and so on (1). The colors produced by these new pigments were often dazzling,<br />
but also alarmingly unstable.<br />
Figure 2. William Holman Hunt sculpting a<br />
model of Christ's head to aid him in the<br />
painting
with colormen and hired scientists to analyze paint samples from various<br />
suppliers. He badgered the Royal Academy into appointing their first professor<br />
of chemistry to research and teach materials science. He fo rmed an<br />
artists' cooperative to secure hand-ground pigments and pure materials. He<br />
monitored the condition of his own <strong>paintings</strong>, attentive to the conditions of<br />
their display and handling. He made test panels and stored them in his studio<br />
ten, fifteen, and twenty years to observe the effects of aging. With ever increasing<br />
obsession, he investigated material permanence, compatibility, and<br />
composition. Like a true conservator, he fo rsook the artwork for the artmaking,<br />
producing fewer <strong>paintings</strong> over longer intervals in a painstakingly slow<br />
technique.<br />
Figure 5. William Holman Hunt, Self-Portrait,<br />
1875. Courtesy of the Ujfi zi Gallery,<br />
Florence, Italy. Note the length of the brushes<br />
on the table. The tunic is the same striped<br />
garment used in The Finding of the Saviour<br />
in the Temple.<br />
Figure 6. Nineteenth-century containers for<br />
oil paints (animal bladder with ivory tacks,<br />
piston tuhe, and collapsible metal tube).<br />
Courtesy of the Forbes Collection, Harvard<br />
University Art Museums.<br />
Hunt's passions flared in the mid-1870s with the realization that Roberson's<br />
orange vermilion, a favorite commercial tube paint, was being adulterated<br />
with red lead, and thus blackening on the canvas. In frustration, Hunt wrote<br />
to his friend and fellow artist, John Lucas Tupper (5):<br />
It seems as tho [sic] I were struggling against Fate. Every day sometimes<br />
including Sundays I have been toiling every hour, and just as I have got<br />
my task nearly completed the whole thing has fallen into disorder again for<br />
at least five or six times and I have had to begin again. At last I have<br />
fo und out what has been the cause oj this: Roberson's tube oj Orange<br />
Vermilion, which I used without suspicion because 25 years ago they sold<br />
this color absolutely pure, is adulterated with 10 percent oj villainy, the<br />
greater part lead, which has blackened so rapidly that when it had got dry<br />
enough fo r the f<br />
inal glazings the flesh had got to such a color [sic] that I<br />
nearly went crazy ... I have had the color analysed and at the same time<br />
have taken the opportunity to have others investigated and find that the<br />
fraudulent habit is exercised in many other cases. What is to me more<br />
discouraging than this is that many artists I have spoken to about [it] are<br />
quite satisfied to go on dealing in these spurious colors saying "Oh, they<br />
will last my time, " and "I never fo und my pictures change" and with<br />
base humility "they, " the colors, "are good enough for my work. " Leighton,<br />
when I proposed a little co-operative society for importing and grinding<br />
pure colors said, "And what's poor Roberson to do?"<br />
The culmination came on Friday, 23 April 1880, when Hunt addressed the<br />
members of the Royal Society of Arts on the subject, "The Present System<br />
of Obtaining Materials in Use by Artist Painters, as Compared with that of<br />
the Old Masters." At a conservative estimate, the talk lasted at least two-anda-half<br />
hours. Concerned as much with the decline in knowledge of artists'<br />
techniques as well as materials, Hunt observed, "In the old days the secrets<br />
were the artist's; now he is the first to be kept in ignorance of what he IS<br />
using" (6). Eloquently he informed his audience (7):<br />
I feel called upon to avow that I regard the artists' colourmen oj London<br />
as gentlemen of intelligence, of character, and great enterprise, to which<br />
qualities we are much indebted for the comparatively safe positions we enjoy;<br />
for indeed, at the worst, it must be recognised that we might have gone<br />
fu rther astray. It is needful, however, that we should be not only in good<br />
hands, but we should give strong prooJ that we can distinguish between<br />
that which is fa ulty and that which is perfect; and it is the want of discriminating<br />
power in the painter which produces all the indiff erence on the<br />
part oj the preparer to the permanent character of the materials he supplies.<br />
The painter has really not the power to trace the causes of difects. The<br />
colourman naturally judges of the character of the materials he vends by the<br />
condition they are in while under his own eye. To him, the evils revealing<br />
themselves in the work which has passed through his shop do not exist if<br />
he never sees them; and if he hears of them only, as evils untraceable in<br />
their cause which have occurred to one of his customers (who may, sometimes,<br />
have obtained materials elsewhere), his sense oj responsibility is quieted,<br />
when he has received the assurance of his men in the workshop that<br />
the usual rules, which have hitherto resulted in work of a kind not eliciting<br />
160<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
complaints, have been strictly adhered to. The workmen, too, in these shops<br />
are not permanent, and there is virtually no responsibility fo r any one<br />
preparation. In most cases the complaint is never made, for the evil may<br />
be a very serious one, and yet it may not manifest itself bifore the death<br />
of the artist.<br />
In conclusion, he stated, "The cure that we have to seek is one it is possible<br />
to defme compactly. It is to establish a means of transmitting the practical<br />
wisdom of one generation of painters to another" (8).<br />
With striking prescience, he addressed the need "to fo und a society for looking<br />
after the material interests of painting . .. composed of important members<br />
of the profession of painting ... [joined by] gentlemen of reputation in<br />
chemical science." This society would form "a library ... of all works of<br />
literature which exist on the subject of artistic practices . .. ,establish a workshop<br />
for the preparation of materials . .. ,arrange for the importing of colours<br />
from abroad for collecting specimens of experiments. An important aspect of<br />
the society will be to cultivate the opportunities of obtaining further samples<br />
of every variety of colours existing in the far East, of proving these, and<br />
putting them on record in our museum fo r all generations to see." A technical<br />
school would be established, and artists trained, "that thus we should be the<br />
inheritors, not only of our immediate predecessors, but the heirs of all the<br />
ages, and that, though our pretensions would not be ostentatious in our humble<br />
way, we might be proud that we should be repeating the chosen tasks of<br />
the gods, the directing of inert matter to a spiritual end" (9).<br />
The Pre-Raphaelite technique<br />
Fully aware of the frailty of the materials of painting, Hunt became a master<br />
technician. Most of his <strong>paintings</strong> have remained well preserved, retaining the<br />
exceptional brilliancy of color which he strove so hard to achieve via successive<br />
layering of minute strokes of transparent and semi-transparent paint.<br />
He chose quality linen canvas stretched on paneled stretcher supports as "protection<br />
against accidental injuries, such as a push from a corner of a picture<br />
frame in the confusion which precedes and follows exhibitions, a kind of<br />
injury which, if not visible at the time, may show years afterwards in starred<br />
cracks in the hard paint" (10).<br />
With some notable exceptions (such as the Liverpool Triumph of the Innocents,<br />
painted on handkerchief linen from an Arab bazaar because the artist was too<br />
impatient to await a delayed shipment of supplies from England), many of<br />
Hunt's <strong>paintings</strong> remain unlined today and on their original stretchers, in the<br />
same gilt frames he designed for them. On other occasions, he had the <strong>paintings</strong><br />
lined as a prophylactic measure, either during execution or shortly after<br />
completion (11).<br />
Hunt chose his medium and surface coating with the same view to permanency<br />
as his pigments and support. Instead of the popular megilp, a gelled<br />
preparation of linseed oil and mastic varnish much used and abused by nineteenth-century<br />
British painters, Hunt used amber colors, smooth-flowing<br />
tube paints with pigments bound in a drying oil and copal resin. For once,<br />
Hunt diverged from sound technique, failing to foresee the embrittling effect<br />
to the paint layer over time from the addition of copal to the medium, along<br />
with the eventual yellowing of his colors due to the oxidation of the varnish<br />
component. With the best of intentions, he defended his choice of medium,<br />
noting that "amber varnish ... protects the colours very perfectly, but has<br />
two slight disadvantages, as it lessens the brilliance of the white by the richness<br />
of the yellow tone in the varnish, and permits each touch to spread, though<br />
very slightly. Both these difficulties, however, occur immediately and may be<br />
calculated for" (12).<br />
In spite of his profound interest in stability of materials and techniques, if<br />
Hunt is remembered at all today as a technical innovator, it is as the author<br />
of the Pre-Raphaelite technique, a technique actually attempted by very few<br />
Katz 161
Pre-Raphaelite painters and never to any great extent. The myth of the Pre<br />
Raphaelite technique arose from a single paragraph in Hunt's 1,000-page,<br />
two-volume autobiography. Citing as an example the painting Valentine Rescuing<br />
Sylvia from Proteus (Fig. 7), Hunt stated that he would (13):<br />
Figure 7. William Holman Hunt, Valentine<br />
Rescuing Sylvia from Proteus (Two<br />
Gentlemen of Verona), 1851. Courtesy if<br />
the Birmingham Museums and Art Callery,<br />
Birmingham, England. This is the painting<br />
Hunt was working on when he described the<br />
wet-ground technique ill his autobiography (I,<br />
276): "The heads of Valentine alld if Proteus,<br />
the hands if these figures, and the brighter<br />
costumes in the same painting had been<br />
executed in this way . ... In the country we<br />
had used it, so fa r, mainly for blossoms of<br />
flowers, for which it was singularly valuable. "<br />
Paint daubs if van'ous mixtures of red are<br />
visible on the spandrels.<br />
Select a prepared ground, originally Jor its brightness, and renovate it, if<br />
necessary, with Jresh white when first it comes into the studio, white to be<br />
mixed with a very little amber or copal varnish. Let this last coat become<br />
oj a thoroughly stone-like hardness. Upon this suiface complete with exactness<br />
the outline oj the part in hand. On the morning Jo r the painting,<br />
with Jresh white (from which all supeifluous oil has been extracted by means<br />
oj absorbent paper, and to which a small drop oj varnish has been added)<br />
spread a Ju rther coat very evenly with a palette knife over the part Jor the<br />
day's work, oj such consistency that the drawing should Ja intly show<br />
through. In some cases the thickened white may be applied to the Jo rms<br />
needing brilliancy with a brush, by the aid oj rectified spirits. Over this<br />
wet ground, the colour (transparent and semi-transparent) should be laid<br />
with light sable brushes, and the touches must be made so tenderly that<br />
the ground below shall not be worked up, yet so Jar enticed to blend with<br />
the superimposed tints as to correct the qualities oj thinness and staininess<br />
[sic], which over a dry ground transparent colours used would inevitably<br />
exhibit. Painting oj this kind cannot be retouched except with an entire<br />
loss oj luminosity.<br />
In spite of the attention given to this quotation, however, it is rarely pointed<br />
out that Hunt describes this as a technique with which he experimented at<br />
one point in his career, used fo r specific design areas rather than entire canvases<br />
and not as a wholesale working method, as has been interpreted. Indeed,<br />
until the appearance of the autobiography in 1905, Hunt appears to repudiate<br />
his early experimental technique. It remains unmentioned in his first version<br />
of his memoirs, nor does it crop up in the frequent handwritten inscriptions<br />
in which he recorded details of technique on bare sections of canvas or support<br />
(14) (Fig. 8). Hunt dismisses its relevance to his career in an article on<br />
his painting technique that appeared in the magazine Porifolio in 1875, stating<br />
that he used wet grounds only from 1850 to 1854 to capture the effects of<br />
sunlight (15). While these five early years are viewed today as Hunt's period<br />
of greatest productivity and success, to his contemporaries his highest achievements<br />
came later in a career that spanned seven decades (16).<br />
The sudden prominence accorded to the technique in 1905, may be due not<br />
to Hunt himself, but to his wife, Edith, seeking to enhance his reputation<br />
through the implication of technical innovation. Suffering from glaucoma,<br />
Hunt dictated much of his memoir to Edith who, according to their granddaughter,<br />
among others, took liberties with the text, "deleting passages ...<br />
she considered unsuitable for posterity" (author's emphasis) (17). Edith's urge<br />
to improve went so far as taking advantage of her husband's blindness to have<br />
a studio assistant repaint Hunt's portrait of her, secretly slimming her waist<br />
and reddening her lips (18). It may well have been at her suggestion that the<br />
wet-ground technique, after fifty years of oblivion, abruptly became of importance<br />
in her husband's career, serving as one more opportunity to assert<br />
his innovation, skill, and pivotal role in the movement he had helped to shape.<br />
Along with the disproportionate attention given to the Pre-Raphaelite technique<br />
comes a misunderstanding of the technique itself, due to a fu ndamental<br />
misreading of the word "ground." In Hunt's writings, the term often refers<br />
to an imprimatura, or underpaint, layer, rather than the intermediary priming<br />
that prepares a solid or fabric support to receive paint. In his diary, fo r example,<br />
Hunt refers to "lay[ing] a new ground for the left shoulder, which I<br />
do of white, cobalt green, and cadmium" (19). Further investigation confirms<br />
that Hunt's "wet ground" was actually a layer of paint, the "fresh white" of<br />
his writings referring to flake white oil paint, as he indicated in a letter of<br />
1878 (20):<br />
162<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
F(gure 8. Illfrared rriflectograph of the hal1dwritten notatioll under the paint layer il1 the upper right<br />
corner of The Miracle of the Sacred Fire, Church of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem, at the<br />
HalVard University Art Museums. Inscriptions such as this one are frequel1tly fo und in paintillgs by<br />
HUllt, either on the reverse of the supports, 011 bare spandrels, or ul1derneath the pail1t layers. Image<br />
provided by the author.<br />
I am obliged to wait long Jo r the drying oj the paint I put on to Jo rm a<br />
Jresh ground, and while patience is being exercised as a necessity it seems<br />
but a little virtuous to summon hope to help me over the completing oj the<br />
parts where the ground has finally become workably [sic] even and dry.<br />
Indeed, Hunt complains here that the underpaint layer is wet, rather than<br />
seeking to exploit its freshness as part of his technique.<br />
This reevaluation of the Pre-Raphaelite technique is consistent with the results<br />
of analyses carried out on cross sections taken from various <strong>paintings</strong> by<br />
Hunt, which indicate the blending of paint layers wet-into-wet, a common<br />
technique throughout the history of painting, rather than the swirling of paint<br />
layers into wet primings (21). This clarification not only places Hunt's<br />
achievements in a far more plausible technical frame, but also emphasizes, as<br />
he did throughout his career, his connection with and indebtedness to the<br />
Katz 163
<strong>paintings</strong> techniques of the past masters, rather than the faddish disregard for<br />
tradition prevalent among his contemporaries.<br />
Conclusion<br />
In seeking reform, Hunt sought not to stop the wheels of progress but to<br />
channel them. His advocacy for the rights of the consumers in a time of<br />
rampant laissez-faire capitalism had ramifications throughout his century and<br />
our own, contributing directly to the enactment of regulations governing the<br />
safety of commercial goods and legislation regarding truth in advertising. His<br />
sophisticated understanding of the science of painting, in spite of limited<br />
formal schooling, and the impact of environment in the preservation of art<br />
place him as a key figure in the development in the professions of art conservation<br />
and museology. His understanding of historic painting techniques,<br />
well advanced fo r his day as well as our own, generated a revival of the craft<br />
of painting after a generation notorious for technical inadequacies. Too often<br />
he has been dismissed by art historians as a minor painter of deeply tasteless<br />
religious scenes. His contribution to nineteenth-century British painting and<br />
to the current stability of commercial artists' materials must not be underestimated.<br />
Acknowledgments<br />
The author wishes to thank Kate Olivier (Fogg Art Museum, Harvard University)<br />
for having encouraged the undertaking of this research; Jacqueline Ridge (National<br />
Museums and Galleries on Merseyside, Liverpool), Zahira Veliz (private practice, London),<br />
and David Bomford (National Gallery, London) fo r facilitating research in Britain;Judith<br />
Bronkhurst (Witt Library, Courtauld Institute, London) and Leslie Carlyle<br />
(Canadian Conservation Institute, Ottawa) for their valuable insights into nineteenthcentury<br />
British art and techniques; and the staff of the following institutions fo r<br />
generous access to curatorial and conservation files pertaining to William Holman<br />
Hunt: Fogg Art Museum, Cambridge, Massachusetts; Wadsworth Atheneum, Hartfo<br />
rd, Connecticut; Tate Gallery, London; Courtauld Institute of Art, London; Guildhall<br />
Art Gallery, London; Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool; Lady Lever Art Gallery, Port<br />
Sunlight; Manchester City Art Galleries, Manchester; Birmingham Museums and Art<br />
Gallery, Birmingham; and the Roberson Archives, Hamilton Kerr Institute, Cambridge<br />
University, Cambridge.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Harley, R. D. 1970. Artists' Pigments c. 1600-1835: A Study in English Documentary<br />
Sources. London: Butterworth Scientific. Also, Gettens, R., and G. Stout, 1966.<br />
Painting Materials: A Short Encyclopaedia. New York: Dover Publications, Inc.<br />
2. Bomford, D., et al. 1990. Art in the Making: Impressionism. London: The National<br />
Gallery.<br />
3. Standage, H. C.,1886. The Artists' Manual of Pigments showing their Composition:<br />
Conditions of Permanency, Non-Permanency, and Adulterations; Effects in Combination<br />
with Each Other and with Vehicles; and the Most Reliable Tests of Purity . .. . London:<br />
Crosby, Lockwood & Co.<br />
4. Standage, op. cit., 53-54.<br />
5. A Pre-Raphaelite Friendship: The Correspondence of William Holman Hunt and John<br />
Lucas Tupper, no. 114 (11 August 1875). 1986. Eds. J. H. Coombs, et al. Ann<br />
Arbor, Michigan: UMI Research Press, 20l.<br />
6. Hunt, W H. 1880. The Present System of Obtaining Materials In Use By Artist<br />
Painters, As Compared With That of the Old Masters. Journal of the Society of<br />
Arts 28 (23 April 1880), 492.<br />
7. Hunt, op. cit, 492.<br />
8. Ibid., 493.<br />
9. Ibid.<br />
10. Hamerton, P. G. 1875. Technical Notes-W Holman Hunt, an interview with<br />
the artist. The Porifolio: An Artistic Periodical VI (1):45.<br />
11. Original paint extends over onto the tacking margins of the lining canvas and<br />
the gummed tape edging the lining of the Birmingham Finding of the Saviour in<br />
the Temple. Conservation files, Birmingham Museums and Art Gallery.<br />
12. Hamerton, op. cit., 45.<br />
164<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
13. Hunt, W. H. 1905-1 906. Pre-Raphaelitism and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. London:<br />
Macmillan & Co., (1):276.<br />
14. Hunt, W H. 1886. The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood: A fight fo r art. The Contemporary<br />
Review 49 (April):471-88, (May) :737-50, Oune):820-33.<br />
15. Hamerton, op. cit., 46.<br />
16. Of course, the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood in its strictest sense only endured<br />
from 1848 to 1854, so a purist might claim it as a Pre-Raphaelite technique,<br />
although all the Brothers quickly returned to traditional painting techniques, and<br />
only Hunt and John Everett Millais had ever developed it to any great extent.<br />
17. Holman-Hunt, D. 1969. My Grandfather, His Wives and Loves. London: Hamish<br />
Hamilton, 18.<br />
18. AITlOr, A. C. 1989. William Holman Hunt: The True Pre-Raphaelite. London: Constable,<br />
266.<br />
19. Hunt, W. H. 1872. Personal diary (May 25, 1872). Original manuscript in the<br />
John Rylands University Library, Manchester, England.<br />
20. A Pre-Raphaelite Friendship, no. 136 (16 October 1878), 258.<br />
21. Consistent results have been achieved in cross-section analysis carried out by the<br />
author, and by conservators at the Tate Gallery and University College, London,<br />
among others.<br />
Katz 165
Abstract<br />
The production of a painting in early<br />
nineteenth-century France followed<br />
a clearly defined sequence of<br />
steps. After drawings had been made,<br />
the composition was outlined on the<br />
prepared canvas and the modeling<br />
was indicated, often with a reddishbrown<br />
"sauce." Local color, light, and<br />
shade were laid in; this sketch was<br />
elaborated using a full range of tones<br />
laid out individually on the ebauche<br />
(palette). The final stage of painting<br />
refined this process further. This is<br />
demonstrated in Paul Delaroche's<br />
The Execution of Lady Jane Grey<br />
(1833). A pupil of Watelet and Gros,<br />
Delaroche received much popular<br />
acclaim during the 1830s, and a<br />
number of eminent painters passed<br />
through his studio. Thus he occupies<br />
a central position in the history of<br />
academic painting.<br />
Paul Delaroche: A Case Study of Academic Painting<br />
Jo Kirby* and Ashok Roy<br />
Scientific Department, National Gallery<br />
Trafalgar Square<br />
London WC2N 5DN<br />
United Kingdom<br />
Introduction<br />
The July Monarchy of Louis Philippe, who came to the throne in 1830, was<br />
a period of technological advance and increasing industrialization, marked by<br />
the rise of a wealthy and influential middle class. It was distinguished by its<br />
adherence to the philosophy of eclecticism, not only in politics, but also in<br />
the realm of the arts. Official art followed a middle course between the two<br />
dominant trends, Classicism and Romanticism, showing the careful composition,<br />
drawing, and modeling of the former and an interest in the subject<br />
matter and emotional content of the latter. The painting of the juste milieu<br />
could justly be described as the art of the bourgeoisie. Paul Delaroche, who<br />
rose to prominence at this time, was one of its most popular and successful<br />
exponents (1, 2).<br />
Born in 1797, the son of an art dealer, Delaroche (christened Hippolyte)<br />
entered the studio of Antoine-Jean Gros, a disciple of David, after early training<br />
with the landscape painter Louis-Etienne Watelet and with Constant<br />
Desbordes. The recipient of many honors, royal patronage, and several official<br />
commissions, Delaroche achieved early Salon success. In 1833, he inherited<br />
Gros's studio and became a professor at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts (3, 4, 5, 6).<br />
His atelier was perhaps the busiest and most effective of the period; his pupils<br />
included Gerome, Daubigny, Millet, Monticelli, and Thomas Couture, himself<br />
the master of Edouard Manet (7).<br />
The Execution of Lady Jane Grey<br />
Delaroche's The Execution if Lady Jane Grey, finished in 1833, achieved considerable<br />
success at the Salon exhibition of 1834. The subject, drawn from<br />
English Tudor history and depicted with ostensible accuracy, appealed to popular<br />
taste. The scene depicted-the moment immediately before the beheading-was<br />
that of the greatest dramatic tension; it also touched the sensibilities<br />
of the public without disgusting them. As Etienne-Jean Delecluze wrote,<br />
"The spectator can contemplate the axe ... without horror" (8) (Plate 33).<br />
The blindfolded Lady Jane fu mbles for the block; a figure who is probably<br />
intended to be Sir John Brydges, the Lieutenant of the Tower of London,<br />
gently guides her hand. On the left, a despairing lady-in-waiting turns her<br />
face towards the massive column; the other lady-in-waiting, her mistress's<br />
discarded dress across her lap, has fainted. The impassive executioner stands<br />
on the right. Delaroche's <strong>historical</strong> sources for the painting included the Martyrologue<br />
des Protestans of 1588, quoted in the Salon catalogue (9) . There were<br />
a number of other publications, as well as the works of other painters, upon<br />
which he could have drawn, including Hans Holbein the Younger's painting<br />
of Anne of Cleves, which was at the Louvre (10, 11). Delaroche undertook<br />
exhaustive research before any painting project (12).<br />
Adored by the crowds, the painting was praised and condemned in almost<br />
equal measure by the critics. The criticism that Delaroche's treatment was<br />
theatrical rather than dramatic, voiced by Gustave Planche among others, is<br />
interesting as it may reflect an aspect of the artist's practice: Delaroche used<br />
small model rooms, within which he arranged wax figures to assist in the<br />
composition of his <strong>paintings</strong> (13, 14). According to Edward Armitage, a for-<br />
* Author to whom correspondence should be addressed.<br />
166<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Figure 1. The Execution of Lady Jane Grey, after cleanirlg a/1d before restoration.<br />
mer student, the use of similar "boxes" to study the fall of light upon small<br />
draped nlOdels was not uncommon (15). It is fair comment that the scene<br />
depicted takes place uncomfortably close to the picture plane within a stagelike<br />
space.<br />
The 1834 Salon catalogue states that the painting was owned by Prince Anatole<br />
Demidoff, who paid 8,000 francs for it. It remained in private ownership<br />
until it was bequeathed to the National Gallery by the second Lord Cheylesmore<br />
in 1902 (16). In 1928 it suffered flood damage while at the Tate<br />
Gallery and was later described as destroyed (17). In 1973 it returned to the<br />
National Gallery, where examination showed that the condition of the painting<br />
was not as bad as had been feared, consisting principally of tears in the<br />
canvas (the largest tear through the executioner's feet) and associated paint<br />
losses. Figure 1 shows the picture before restoration after it had been repaired,<br />
double lined with wax resin, and cleaned (1974-1975). Evidently its construction<br />
must have been relatively sound, and this was confirmed by its recent<br />
technical examination (18).<br />
Method and materials of painting<br />
The highly fmished Salon painting or Academic picture was the result of a<br />
well-established procedure; the artist would make preliminary studies, an esquisse<br />
(a sketch of the intended composition), and detailed drawings before<br />
transferring the design to canvas and beginning to paint (19, 20, 21,22). These<br />
Kirby and Roy 167
Figure 2. Paul Delaroche, Study for The Execution of Lady Jane Grey, ca. 1833. Watercolor<br />
and body color over pencil, with varnish, 18.4 X 14.3 em. University of Manchester, f;IIhitworth Art<br />
Gallery.<br />
steps may be observed in The Execution if Lady Jane Grey and other works<br />
by Paul Delaroche. It must be remembered that the artist may have been<br />
assisted by students at certain stages in the production of a painting of this<br />
size, even though there is no obvious indication of this here (23).<br />
Compositional sketches for several of Delaroche's <strong>paintings</strong> survive; Joan of<br />
Arc in Prison (London, Wallace Collection), for example, was painted as the<br />
sketch fo r Joan if Arc . . . Interrogated in Prison by the Cardinal of Winchester<br />
(1824, Rouen, Musee des Beaux-Arts) (24, 25). Most are smaller than the<br />
fmal versions and all are more freely painted. Delaroche felt strongly that a<br />
preliminary sketch embodied the artist's imaginative process and inspiration<br />
(26). The only known compositional study for The Execution if Lady Jane<br />
Grey is a small watercolor in the Whitworth Art Gallery, Manchester (Fig. 2).<br />
Here, Delaroche sets the figures within a Romanesque interior and only the<br />
executioner, who stands in profile holding a sword, is significantly different<br />
from the large final version (27). Many minor alterations can be attributed to<br />
scaling up and improving the composition: modifYing the background arcade<br />
and staircase, for example, and simplifYing the costumes. The striking transformation<br />
is in the color, which is so resonant and warm in the finished<br />
version in contrast to the cooler and less coherent tonalities of the watercolor.<br />
In the sketch, the executioner is dressed in dull green and red; the attendant<br />
facing the column is portrayed in deep blue, rather than rich dark purple. In<br />
the sketch, light plays evenly across the room; in the painting, it is more<br />
concentrated on the figures, although the pattern of light fall is similar. The<br />
squat, oddly appealing figures of the tiny watercolor have been transformed<br />
into an elegant, theatrical "tableau."<br />
The next step was to make drawings for the composition's elements. Much<br />
importance was traditionally attached to drawing, and Delaroche produced<br />
hundreds of drawings during his career (28). Several must have been made<br />
for The Execution if Lady Jane Grey. Two studies for it on paper certainly<br />
survive, one in the Musee du Louvre in Paris, the other in the British Museum<br />
in London (Fig. 3) (29). The Louvre sheet shows the figure of the<br />
executioner on the left, squared up fo r transfer: It is very close to that in the<br />
168<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Figure 3. The Execution of Lady Jane Grey. Pencil drawing for the central group, 18 X 16.5<br />
cm. London, British Museum {fo rmerly National Gallery, London}.<br />
finished painting. The two other figures on the sheet are studies for Lady<br />
Jane's ladies-in-waiting; neither has been squared up. That for the standing<br />
figure has been used with little modification. The other figure in the Louvre<br />
drawing appears to kneel and pray facing the central group; this composition<br />
was not used in the final painting, in which the slumped position of the<br />
attendant is very much as it is in the watercolor study-to greater dramatic<br />
effect. The British Museum drawing shows Lady Jane and Sir John Brydges;<br />
it has been used with little modification. There are small differences in details<br />
of costume between the drawings used and the finished painting.<br />
Apart from his use of draped figures in room sets, discussed above, the artist<br />
was in the habit of making wax or plaster models of elements of the composition<br />
when he felt there was a problem to be solved; a plaster model was<br />
made of the two princes, for example, in The Children if Edward IV (1830,<br />
Musee du Louvre) (30). This appears not to have been necessary for the Lady<br />
Jane Grey.<br />
The chosen drawn versions of the figures would then have been transferred<br />
to the prepared canvas. The canvas for a painting of this size would have been<br />
stretched to order, apparently from a single piece of medium-weight linen;<br />
the largest stock canvas was a toile de 120 (about 1.3 X 1.9 m) (31). The roll<br />
of canvas used was already primed with a ground of lead white in linseed oil.<br />
Over this first priming, Delaroche then had a second ground-also of lead<br />
white, but this time bound in walnut oil-applied to the stretched canvas.<br />
Delaroche seems to have transferred designs for the single figures or groups<br />
individually; infrared reflectography has revealed "squaring-up" lines under<br />
the paint of Lady Jane's dress, her seated attendant, and in the area of the<br />
Kirby and Roy 169
Figure 4. Il1frared reftectogram from Lady jane Grey's skirt in The Execution of Lady Jane Grey.<br />
block, but the scale of these various grids suggests that there is no single<br />
system of squaring across the entire picture surface. The infrared images show<br />
many changes in the underdrawing; lines drawn across Lady Jane's wrists<br />
suggest that her dress was to be long-sleeved, as in the watercolor sketch (Fig.<br />
4). At the drawing stage, Delaroche also indicated such fe atures as shadows<br />
in drapery folds, as seen in the standing woman's dress.<br />
In many unfinished French <strong>paintings</strong> of this period it can be seen that the<br />
underdrawing has been strengthened with a translucent brownish wash, sometimes<br />
known as "sauce" (32, 33). In this case, no such material could be<br />
detected with certainty in any of the cross sections examined, and only the<br />
charcoal drawing was fo und; possibly a grayish wash, for example, was applied<br />
in the shadows of folds.<br />
Subsequently the figures and background were laid in using brownish or<br />
grayish shades of paint, composed of lead white combined with a variety of<br />
tinting pigments (Cassel earth, ochres, and other natural earth pigments, as<br />
well as small quantities of cobalt blue, a red lake pigment and black) . The<br />
tonality of this underpaint bears some relation to the color of the paint that<br />
was to be applied on top, thus the background and black garments are underpainted<br />
in shades of gray, while the underpaint of the flesh varies from a<br />
warm beige fo r the executioner to a grayish white for Lady Jane. The underpaint<br />
also indicates light and shade, by varying the proportion of ochres,<br />
black, and cobalt blue in the mixture, the color of the underpaint of Lady<br />
Jane's dress is changed from a pale beige in areas of highlight to a dark brown<br />
in the deepest shadow. Occasionally, the underpaint is similar in color to the<br />
intended local color; for the cushion it is a translucent green consisting of<br />
black, verdigris, Pruss ian blue, yellow ochre, and perhaps a yellow lake.<br />
At this point the painting would have had an appearance not unlike a grisaille<br />
version of the final composition, an element of Delaroche's practice mentioned<br />
by Delaborde (34). Infrared reflectography has revealed many pentimenti,<br />
however, bearing out comm.ents by students that Delaroche frequently<br />
reworked passages during painting (35). The executioner appears originally<br />
to have had a sash around his waist, for example, and the position of the pike<br />
behind the balustrade and the angle of the banisters have been altered. The<br />
underpaint for the executioner's tights is mauve-gray (composed of lead<br />
170<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Figure 5. Detail of Lady Jal1e Grey from The ExeclItion of Lady Jane Grey.<br />
white, red lake, and black), similar in color to that used in the watercolor<br />
sketch; the presence of a thin layer of black paint above it, darkening or<br />
obliterating it, suggests a change of mind. Above it is a much warmer version<br />
of the underpaint layer, containing more red lake pigment, followed by the<br />
desired red paint (Plate 34a) .<br />
This grisaille probably represents the ebauche stage of the painting (36).<br />
When it was dry, the local color was applied. Bouvier describes the use of a<br />
series of premixed, graduated middle tones applied side by side and then<br />
blended to give an smooth passage from light to dark across each part of the<br />
painting, for both the ebauche and the final paint layers (37). The sim.plicity<br />
and precision of the layer structure and the generally close relationship between<br />
the depth of tone in the grisaille and the chiaroscuro of the finished<br />
painting, as demonstrated in the painting of Lady Jane's dress, suggests that<br />
something approaching this may have been done (Fig. 5). Only one or two<br />
quite thin, even layers of paint may be present over the underpaint, with<br />
perhaps an additional glaze or highlight. Observation of the paint surface,<br />
however, and the occasional presence of extrem.ely thin scumbles or glazes of<br />
paint (or sim.ply a greater concentration of paint medium) at the top of a<br />
paint layer reveal the careful blending of tones. One paint layer frequently<br />
appears to have been applied over another while the layer below was still<br />
fresh, enabling one mid-tone to be merged into the next. Plate 34b shows a<br />
cross section of paint from the shadow of a fold in Lady Jane's dress. The<br />
grayish paint of the shadow, consisting of lead white with a little cobalt blue<br />
and Cassel earth, merges with the creamier paint of the layer below so com-<br />
Kirby and Roy 171
pletely that it is difficult to distinguish between them. The lowest paint layer<br />
(above the grayish wash of the drawing and the white ground) is the dark<br />
undermodeling of the ebauche, containing Cassel earth, charcoal, and cobalt<br />
blue. This is probably sufficiently dark in color to contribute to the observed<br />
chiaroscuro of the dress (a similar mixture is used as a final glaze fo r the<br />
deepest shadows) . The creamy mid-tone of the dress consists principally of<br />
lead white, with traces of yellow ochre, Cassel earth, and cobalt blue; the<br />
proportion of the tinting pigments is altered as one tone blends into the next,<br />
however. The blending process is also reflected in the presence of a number<br />
of paint layers in subtly different shades of cream in different parts of the<br />
dress. Only in the lightest highlights is lead white used almost pure, ground<br />
in walnut oil; even here, the presence of a trace of cobalt blue gives it coldness.<br />
This general pattern of paint construction is repeated elsewhere in the painting.<br />
Passages of paint containing a pigment used more or less unmixed are<br />
very rare indeed, but in the red glazes supplying the purplish red of the<br />
brocade dress, on the lap of the seated lady-in-waiting in Figure 6c, and the<br />
shadows on the executioner's tights, a crimson lake pigment was used in this<br />
way. In both cases, the dyestuff present was that extracted from a cochineal<br />
insect, Dactylopius coccus Costa, on a substrate consisting largely of hydrated<br />
alumina. The brown paint of the brocade, containing yellow ochre with other<br />
iron oxides and black, contained ordinary linseed oil; the red glaze, however,<br />
contained heat pre-polymerized linseed oil and a little mastic resin (Plate 34c).<br />
This indicates the use of a varnish of the type recommended as a painting<br />
medium, perhaps the jellylike vernis des Anglais described by Merimee as being<br />
particularly suitable fo r glazes because it could be brushed on so easily (38).<br />
The presence of a resin-containing medium is also suggested by the whitish<br />
fluorescence exhibited by the glaze layer in ultraviolet illumination under the<br />
mIcroscope.<br />
The paint used for the red of the executioner's tights is perhaps surprisingly<br />
complicated, as it contains two red lake pigments mixed with vermilion and<br />
lead white (Plate 34a). Examination under the microscope suggests that one<br />
is the cochineal lake used in the glaze; the other, less crimson in color, was<br />
not present in sufficient quantity fo r analysis, but its pronounced orange-pink<br />
fluorescence in ultraviolet illumination suggests that the dyestuff may have<br />
been extracted from madder root, the use of which was being developed in<br />
France at the time (39). Curiously, the same lake (mixed with black and cobalt<br />
blue) is used rather than the more crimson cochineal lake for the attendant's<br />
purple dress. Even the velvety black of Sir John Brydges' garment is a mixed<br />
color: it contains a subtle combination of black, Prussian blue, red lake, and<br />
a translucent yellow pigment (Plate 34d). This combination is similar to<br />
Edouard Manet's tinted darks in Music in the Tuileries Gardens, painted thirty<br />
years later (40). Quite marked brushwork is visible in the black garments of<br />
Sir John and the executioner; analysis shows that Delaroche used a varnishtype<br />
painting medium of similar composition to that used for the red glaze,<br />
which retained the texture of the brush strokes.<br />
To summarize, Paul Delaroche painted a grisaille of his composition and then<br />
colored it in; the labor necessary to produce the finished painting was, however,<br />
considerable barely revealed on its bland surface. The painter's craftsmanship<br />
and understanding of materials cannot be denied; his reliance on<br />
lead white and ochres in particular and the absence of bitumen have resulted<br />
in a paint film in remarkably good condition, considering the recent history<br />
of the painting. The use of a varnish-type paint medium has often proved to<br />
be a recipe fo r disaster; in this case the paint shows few of the defects often<br />
caused by its use. Delaroche appears to have added only cobalt blue and<br />
synthetic ultramarine (and possibly an improved madder lake) to what could<br />
be described as a conventional eighteenth-century palette.<br />
The production of the Salon painting was not the end of the story. Public<br />
awareness of successful Salon <strong>paintings</strong> was increased by means of reproductions<br />
in the press; several of Delaroche's <strong>paintings</strong>, including Children of Edward<br />
172<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Figure 6. Paul Delaroche, The Execution of Lady Jane Grey, ca. 1834. Canvas, 45. 7 X 53.3<br />
e/11. Corporation of London, Guildhall Art Gallery.<br />
IV, were reproduced by lithography. Artists were also able to keep their works<br />
in the public eye by means of high-quality engravings and Delaroche had an<br />
arrangement with the print publisher Adolphe Goupil to produce and publish<br />
engravings, after his <strong>paintings</strong> (41). For large <strong>paintings</strong>, including Lady Jane<br />
Grey, The Children of Edward IV, and Joan of Arc, he painted a reduced-scale<br />
copy from which the engraving could be made (42) . In the case of Lady Jane<br />
Grey, it is possible that the painting now in the collection of the Guildhall<br />
Art Gallery, Corporation of London, is the reduced-scale copy (Fig. 6) (43).<br />
The engraving, by Mercurij, one of several engravers who engraved the painter's<br />
works fo r Goupil, was begun in 1834, but was only completed in 1857,<br />
the painter himself having died the previous year (44).<br />
Acknowledgments<br />
The authors would like to thank John Leighton, curator of nineteenth-century <strong>paintings</strong><br />
at the National Gallery, fo r generously sharing the information he has gained<br />
during his research with the authors; Rachel Billinge, Leverhulme Research Fellow<br />
at the National Gallery, for infrared reflectography carried out on the painting; Raymond<br />
White fo r examination of the paint medium by gas chromatography mass<br />
spectrometry; Sara Hattrick and the Photographic Department for photography.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Boime, A. 1971. The Academy and French Painting in the Nineteenth Century. London:<br />
Phaidon, 9-21.<br />
2. Boime, A. 1980. Thomas Couture and the Eclectic Vision. New Haven and London:<br />
Yale University Press, 3-35.<br />
3. Delaborde, H., and J. Godde. 1858. Oeuvre de Paul Delaroche, reproduit en photographie<br />
par Bingham, accompagne d'une notice sur la vie et les ouvrages de Paul Delaroche<br />
par Henri Delaborde, et du catalogue raisonne de l'oeuvre par Jules GoddlE. Paris: Goupil.<br />
References to the essay are cited as Delaborde, 1858; those to the catalogue as<br />
Godde, 1858.<br />
4. Ziff, N. D. 1977. Paul Delaroche: a study in nineteenth-century French history painting.<br />
New York and London: Garland Publishing, Inc.<br />
5. Boime, 1980. Op. cit., 40-41, 52-60, 70-75.<br />
Kirby and Roy 173
6. Foissy-Aufrere, M.-P 1983. La jeartlle d'Arc de Paul Delaroche, Salon de 1824:<br />
dossier d'une oeuvre. Rouen: Musee des Beaux-Arts, 82-87.<br />
7. Hauptman, W 1985. Delaroche's and Gleyre's teaching ateliers and their group<br />
portraits. Studies in the History of Art (18) :79-82, 89-97.<br />
8. Delecluze, E.-J. 1834. Salon de 1834 (2nd article). joumal des debats, politiques et<br />
litteraires 5 March 1834.<br />
9. Paris Salon de 1834. Explication des ouvrages de peinture, sculpture, architecture, gravure<br />
et lithographie des artistes vivalls exposes au Musee Royal Ie 1" mars, 1834. Paris:<br />
Vinchon. Facsim.ile edition, 1977. New York and London: Garland Publishing<br />
Inc., 52 (no. 503).<br />
10. Ziff, op cit., 126-35.<br />
11. Ganz, P 1950. The Paintings of Ha1/5 Holbeill. London: Phaidon, 251 (no. 107)<br />
and plate 148.<br />
12. Mirecourt, E. de, [C-J.-B.Jacquot]. 1871. Histoire co/I.temporaine: portraits et silhouettes<br />
au XIX" siMe. 119. Delaroche, Decamps. 3rd ed. Paris: Librairie des contemporains,<br />
16-17.<br />
13. Planche, G. 1855. Salon de 1834. In Etudes sur I 'ecole franfaise (1831-1852), peinture<br />
et sculpture. Paris: Michel Levy Freres, Vol. 1, 241.<br />
14. Boime, 1980. Op. cit., 56.<br />
15. Armitage, E. 1883. Lectures on painting, delivered to the students of the Royal Academy.<br />
London: Tri.ibner & Co., 254-56.<br />
16. Gould, C 1975. Delaroche and Gautier: Gautier's views on the ((Execution of Lady<br />
jane Grey" and on other compositions by Delaroche. Leaflet accompanying the exhibition<br />
of the restored painting. London: Trustees of the National Gallery, Publications<br />
Department.<br />
17. Alley, R. 1959. Tate Gallery catalogues. The fo reign <strong>paintings</strong>, drawings and sculpture.<br />
London: Trustees of the Tate Gallery, 298.<br />
18. Examination of the paint cross sections and pigments was carried out by Ashok<br />
Roy using optical mjcroscopy, scanning electron microscopy coupled with energy-dispersive<br />
X-ray analysis, and X-ray diffraction. Identification of the paint<br />
media by gas chromatography mass spectrometry was performed by Raymond<br />
White. Identification of lake pigment dyestuffs by high performance liquid chromatography<br />
was carried out by Jo Kirby. The conservation treatment is described<br />
in the National Gallery conservation records.<br />
19. Boime, 1971. Op. cit., 22-47.<br />
20. Bouvier, P-L. 1832. Manuel des jeunes artistes et amateurs en peinture. 2nd ed. Paris:<br />
F. G. Levrault.<br />
21. Paillot de Montabert,J.-N. 1829. Traite complet de la peinture. Paris: Bossange pere,<br />
Vol. 9, 36-65.<br />
22. Arsenne, L.-C 1833. Manuel du peintre et du sculpteur [etc.]. Paris: Librairie encyclopedique<br />
de Roret, Vol. 2, 195-413.<br />
23. For example, Godde states that the ebauche of Straffo rd (1835, location unknown)<br />
was painted by Henri Delaborde from Delaroche's watercolor sketch and a wax<br />
model. Godde, 1858. Op. cit. (note 3), plate 19 and commentary.<br />
24. Ingamells,J. 1986. The Wallace Collection. Catalogue of Pictures, II, French Nineteenth<br />
Century. London: Trustees of the Wallace Collection, 114 (no. P604).<br />
25. Foissy-Aufrere, op. cit., 21-23.<br />
26. Boime, 1971. Op. cit., 45, 102-3.<br />
27. Godde, 1858. Op. cit. (note 3), plate 16 and commentary.<br />
28. Ziff, N. D. 1975. Dessins de Paul Delaroche au cabinet des Dessins du musee du<br />
Louvre. La Revue du Louvre et des Musees de France, XXV: 163-68. A further<br />
donation of drawings was made to the Louvre in 1982.<br />
29. Etude pour la 'Jane Gray" [sic], 1727RF. Pencil and red chalk, 23. 1 X 20 cm.<br />
See Guiffrey, J., and P Marcel. 1910. Inventaire general des dessins du Musee du<br />
Louvre et du Musee de Versailles. Ecole franfaise. Paris: Librairie centrale d'art et<br />
d'architecture. Vol. 5, 2-3 (no. 3535).<br />
30. Delaborde and Godde, op. cit., 15, plate 14 and conU11entary.<br />
31. Paillot de Montabert, op. cit., vol. 9, 144-47.<br />
32. Bouvier, op. cit., 236-37.<br />
33. Couture, T. 1879. Conversations on Art Methods lMetlLOde et entretiens d'atelierJ.<br />
(French edition, 1867). New York: G. P Putnam's Sons, 7.<br />
34. Delaborde, op. cit., 18.<br />
35. Armitage, op. cit., 79.<br />
36. Boime, 197 1. Op. cit., 36-41.<br />
37. Bouvier, op. cit., 207-74.<br />
174<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
38. Merimee,J.-F.-L. 1830. De la peinture a I'lwile [etc.]. Paris: Mme. Huzard (facsimjle<br />
reprint, Puteaux: Erec, 1981), 70-71.<br />
39. Paillot de Montabert, op. cit., 258-71; see also Merimee, op. cit., 144-65.<br />
40. Bomford, D., J. Kirby, J. Leighton, and A. Roy. 1990. Art in the Making: Impressionism,<br />
London: National Gallery and New Haven: Yale University Press, 117,<br />
119.<br />
41. Mirecourt, op. cit., 24.<br />
42. Ingamells, op. cit., 99-100 (no. P276), 103-104 (no. P300).<br />
43. Knight, V 1986. The Works of Art of the Corporation of London: A Catalogue of<br />
Paintings, Watercolours, Drawillgs, Prints alld Sculpture. Cambridge: Woodhead<br />
Faulkner, 72 (no. 1052).<br />
44. Godde, op. cit. (note 3) , plate 16 and conunentary. The engraving measured 29<br />
X 36 cm.<br />
Kirby and Roy 175
Abstract<br />
Turner's use of sketches on paper, his<br />
development of successful oil sketches<br />
into finished <strong>paintings</strong>, his preference<br />
for absorbent primings, and his<br />
modified oil media are described.<br />
His oil painting techniques circa<br />
1800-1850 are illustrated by studies<br />
of several works. His use of megilps<br />
(varnish-modified oil media) is outlined,<br />
along with his use of newly<br />
available manufactured pigments, and<br />
is compared with analyses from other<br />
works painted by British artists<br />
1775-1875, ranging from Reynolds<br />
to Whistler.<br />
Painting Techniques and Materials of Turner and Other<br />
British Artists 1775-1875<br />
Joyce H. Townsend<br />
Senior Conservation Scientist<br />
Tate Gallery, Millbank<br />
London SW 1P 4RG<br />
United Kingdom<br />
Introduction<br />
This paper presents important aspects of J. M. W Turner's technique, discussed<br />
before by the author in greater detail, by examining several <strong>paintings</strong> not<br />
previously described in this context (1, 2). Turner painted in oil fo r over fifty<br />
years (ca. 1798-1850), and it is interesting to compare his materials to those<br />
used in British <strong>paintings</strong> of the preceding and fo llowing twenty-five years (in<br />
the Tate Gallery collection, unless otherwise stated). Thus, this paper presents<br />
a comparison of the use of modified paint media and the adoption by various<br />
artists of new pigments produced between 1775 and 1875.<br />
Turner's oil painting techniques, compared to others' techniques<br />
Turner spent at least ten years as a watercolorist before he used oil as a paint<br />
medium, developing a range of techniques that he would utilize ever after in<br />
oil. In the earlier watercolors, transparent washes overlie the white paper<br />
except where Turner reserved highlights. The greens were made by mixing,<br />
overlaying, or physically mixing with his fingers, washes of brown and blue.<br />
There is very little underdrawing, and generally it is free rather than detailed.<br />
The lTlental image was transferred directly to the support. As Farington wrote,<br />
"Turner has no settled process but drives the colour about till he has expressed<br />
the ideas in his mind" (3). Turner produced over 20,000 pencil sketches and<br />
watercolors, now at the Tate Gallery, but few have a direct counterpart in oil.<br />
He hardly ever produced a detailed oil sketch, even for a commission, and<br />
when he sketched in oil he developed the best sketches into completed and<br />
exhibited works, rather than repainting them on a new canvas.<br />
Turner seems to have tried nearly all materials and methods once. The following<br />
descriptions apply to many of his <strong>paintings</strong>, if not all. Once he began<br />
to work in both media (always independently) , he utilized new application<br />
techniques and pigment in both media at about the same time. His early<br />
work in watercolor gave him an understanding of and liking fo r light-toned,<br />
absorbent surfaces, and honed his skills in the application of optical greens<br />
and blacks. Some eighteenth-century artists such as Wright of Derby (4) used<br />
white grounds to lend luminosity to their oil <strong>paintings</strong>, but many of Turner's<br />
immediate contemporaries were using thicker paint and warm-toned grounds<br />
up to 1820. Constable produced oil sketches upon mid-toned buff, red, or<br />
blue grounds, though his exhibited works do not show quite such a variety<br />
of grounds (5). After 1820, more British artists tended to use white grounds.<br />
Many commercially primed canvases are white during this time and up to<br />
the 1890s, when Sargent and Whistler used gray ones of varying tones in<br />
England (6) . Turner used white primings for a fair proportion of his oils, both<br />
exhibited and unfinished, in the first decade of the nineteenth century; in<br />
later decades most of his supports had white grounds. In a fair num.ber of the<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> examined, the primings consist of lead white in whole egg medium<br />
(7), most of the others being lead white in oil, not sized on the surface or<br />
between applications of priming, as had previously been usual. Absorbent<br />
surfaces gave the impetuous Turner a very rapid indication of the final color<br />
of the paint, and allowed him to develop the composition rapidly over fastdrying<br />
paint if it looked promising.<br />
176<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
F(gure 1. J. M. W. Turner, Goring Mill and Church, ca. 1806-1807. Oil sketch on canvas,<br />
857 X 1162 111111. Courtesy of the Tate Gallery, London (N02704).<br />
Some works were abandoned at this stage, for example Goring Mill and Church<br />
(ca. 1806-1807), in which the buildings were lightly drawn in pencil before<br />
washes were applied of thinned linseed oil paint in green and brown for grass,<br />
buildings, and cattle, and in highly thinned, pale blue paint to suggest the<br />
clouds (Fig. 1). Other abandoned oil <strong>paintings</strong> from this date and later have<br />
little or no pencil underdrawing. Turner used it mainly to outline buildings<br />
or ships, where accuracy mattered. By contrast, landscapes and trees were<br />
usually freely painted. In later years, Turner used increasingly brightly colored,<br />
thinned paint as a first lay-in, generally brown for the landscape and blue for<br />
the sky, leaving white priming in areas that would later be depicted as yellow<br />
sunlight. He glazed down the colors as he worked. Cross sections from most<br />
oils show thin transparent washes, overlaid by thin paint layers in the same<br />
colors, lightened with lead white. Some abandoned works have a patch of<br />
bright red or blue in the foreground, which Turner would have developed<br />
into something appropriate as the image evolved, perhaps a red buoy in the<br />
sea, or a brightly dressed figure in a landscape.<br />
Turner's earliest oils look thickly and conventionally painted at first glance or<br />
when viewed through accumulated yellow varnish, but this is deceptive. Dolbadern<br />
Castle, North Wales is a good example (Fig. 2). Turner presented it to<br />
the Royal Academy, London, when he obtained full membership at the age<br />
of twenty-eight. Recent cleaning revealed thin glazes of Mars orange (i.e.,<br />
strongly colored synthetic iron oxide) and localized scumbles of black, and<br />
Mars orange or red, with white in the landscape. The surface was, in fact,<br />
vulnerable and potentially sensitive to solvents. Clouds were applied with a<br />
thicker, creamy-looking paint that retained brush marks, small areas were then<br />
scumbled over with quite bright yellows or pinks, applied rather lean. Naples<br />
yellow, reddish brown ochres, a purplish ochre, and ivory black provided these<br />
highlights, while the sky itself was painted in ultramarine, lightened with lead<br />
white. Turner continued to use ultramarine for finishing skies throughout his<br />
life, having often done the initial lay-in with smalt, though not in this case.<br />
He used Prussian blue glazes and washes over thicker layers of brown ochres<br />
and umbers for the greener parts of the landscape and the stream. The fastflowing<br />
water is indicated by small flecks of textured white paint. These may<br />
be lean strokes of paint applied in a pure oil medium. In other <strong>paintings</strong>, such<br />
areas were found to contain linseed oil but very rarely walnut oil, despite the<br />
fact that the latter was known to yellow less. It is much less likely that the<br />
Townsend 177
Figure 2. J. M. W. Tumer, Dolbadern Castle, North Wales, 1802. Oil 011 canvas, 1190 X 889 /11111. Courtesy of the<br />
Royal AcadelllY of Arts, LOlldo/l.<br />
textured clouds were painted in pure oil medium; they more resemble a<br />
megilp, a medium discussed in detail later.<br />
Many of Turner's oils are disfigured by wide contraction cracks long associated<br />
with natural bitumen or asphaltum. The paint of Dolbadern Castle is free<br />
of such defects, possibly because the subject did not require the extreme<br />
contrasts between sunny and shaded landscape that Turner achieved so effec-<br />
178<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Figl/re 3. Detail if lower left, s/lOwillg wlltractioll cracks ill vitulllell-rich paillt, jrolll J. M. W. TurlIer's<br />
The Hero of a Hundred Fights, ca. 1800, rel/,orked 1847. Oil 01/ cal1vas, 908 X 1213.<br />
COl/rtesy oj the Tate Gallery, LOlldoll (N00551).<br />
tively elsewhere through the use of bitumen, megilp, and resinous glazes.<br />
Bitumen has been detected in his Italian landscapes of 1820-1840 in particular,<br />
and appears at its worst when used as an underlayer for the foreground.<br />
In other works, Turner added to bitumen's poor drying characteristics by<br />
painting it directly over old damaged paint or by exposing canvas to extreme<br />
dampness and dripping water, so the support stressed the paint and caused<br />
cracking. It is not certain whether he ever used synthetic bitumen, a material<br />
severely criticized by his contemporaries, and reputed never to dry at all (8) .<br />
Figure 3 shows a detail from Turner's The Hero of a Hundred Fights that has<br />
bitumen-rich paint applied over oil paint a few decades old, showing severe<br />
cracking typical of this artist's oeuvre. Figure 4 shows even more disfiguring<br />
cracking, attributed to synthetic bitumen, in a study of Editha's head fo r<br />
Hilton's Editha and the Monks Searching fo r the Body of Harold.<br />
The full complexity of Turner's later <strong>paintings</strong> can be represented by The<br />
Dawn oj Christianity, The Flight into Egypt, exhibited in 1841. Turner used a<br />
square canvas with a white, absorbent priming of lead white and oil, and<br />
planned the work fo r a non-square frame. He sketched in octagonal cut-offs<br />
in pencil, drew a circle with pencil and compasses, and then painted a more<br />
or less circular image. He prudently made use of the corners of the canvas<br />
to try out colors, and quite large brush loads of paint survive there, uncontaminated<br />
by later layers. Figure 5 shows the framed painting, and Plate 35<br />
shows a detail of the lower right corner. The most textured paint, nearly free<br />
of pigment and by now honey colored, proved to be a megilp. The canvas is<br />
Townsend 179
Figure 4. Detail (showing cracks) from William Hilton the Younger's study of Editha's head for Editha<br />
and the Monks Searching for the Body of Harold, ca. 1834. Oil on canvas, 335 X 244<br />
mm. Courtesy rf the Tate Gallery, London (N00333).<br />
unlined. The paint dribbling down the tacking margins at an angle suggests<br />
Turner used a sloping easel, probably the tripod type depicted in his watercolors.<br />
There are very few descriptions of Turner painting, but observation<br />
of the <strong>paintings</strong> and cross sections makes it clear that he thinned paint excessively,<br />
until it contracted into islands as it dried (visible in the foreground);<br />
at other times, he mixed paint in drying oil on the palette so rapidly as to<br />
leave recognizable blobs of the added oil. Almost certainly, Turner completed<br />
The Dawn of Christianity at the Royal Academy in the three days required of<br />
other artists of his era fo r retouching sunken areas or appling varnish. The<br />
sky paint was applied rather thickly with a palette knife, as was white impasto<br />
in the lower right. Both paints consisted of good quality lead white with few<br />
impurities. Turner sometimes modified the sky with opaque scumbles, but<br />
rarely glazed it, emphasizing the contrast between the sky and the highly<br />
glazed landscape in the foreground. The middle ground was painted rapidly<br />
180<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Figure 5. J. M. W. Tumer's The Dawn of Christianity, the Flight into Egypt, exhibited 1841. Oil on cal1vas, 787 X 787 111m.<br />
Courtesy of Ulster Museum, Belfast, Northern Ireland.<br />
with megilped paint, and hence has high impasto that did not slump as it<br />
dried. Turner may even have mixed the megilp into the oil paint on the<br />
canvas, rather than on the palette. Beeswax and spermaceti wax, added to oil<br />
and both found in this painting (9), yielded a more flowing medium used to<br />
good effect in the more distant trees, though the prominent tree on the right<br />
has a more strongly textured trunk painted with megilp. The very thin, later<br />
glazes that ran off the edges and soaked into the corners of the absorbent<br />
canvas would have soaked less into medium-rich paint. Turner used emerald<br />
green here (and quite frequently by this date) to provide a stronger contrast<br />
with chrome yellows and orange than that provided by an optical green.<br />
Curiously, green mixtures of opaque blues and yellows are virtually unknown<br />
in his <strong>paintings</strong>. The original varnish may have survived on this painting in<br />
the hollows of textured paint, where it has entrapped hogs' hairs, as in other<br />
Turner oils in which the varnish may be original. Little can be said conclu-<br />
Townsend 181
sively about the varnishes Turner used. He may have varnished later works<br />
only when they were sold.<br />
Megilps compared to oil medium<br />
There are numerous references in artists' manuals and critics' reviews to megilps,<br />
combinations of mastic varnish and drying oil that gelled on mixing,<br />
and could then be mixed into pure oil paint on the palette (10). Megilps<br />
(thixotropic medium modifiers) had excellent handling characteristics both<br />
for impasto and glazing, but a severe tendency to darken, and to cause cracking<br />
whenever varnish was applied. Such materials had been used and criticized<br />
at least since Reynolds' time. Recent studies have shown that megilps<br />
can be made successfully from linseed oil cooked with lead acetate or litharge,<br />
cooled, and later mixed with mastic spirit varnish (11). These megilps subsequently<br />
show different behavior on aging, and Turner's paint is somewhat<br />
closer to lead acetate megilp. Pure megilp samples from the corners of The<br />
Dawn of Christianity certainly contain lead and behave when heated like artificially<br />
aged lead acetate megilps made from nineteenth-century recipes.<br />
Megilped white paint from this painting and the considerably earlier Dolbadern<br />
Castle has rather a different chemical composition from pure drying oil<br />
(12), being more hydrolyzed and less oxidized, as though a drier were present<br />
from the beginning. Documentary evidence indicates that Turner used lead<br />
acetate in copious amounts.<br />
Megilps are two-component materials whose properties vary significantly as<br />
the oil:resin proportion changes from 1:3 to 3:1. Film-forming capability, the<br />
tendency of the megilp to segregate afterwards, its tackiness, and its ability to<br />
absorb more or less dust than oil paint all depend on the exact proportions.<br />
Turner, who worked fast and fu riously, and never even paused to grind his<br />
pigments finely, must have used a variety of fo rmulations and proportions of<br />
megilp, albeit unconsciously. This has led to variations in degree of yellowing<br />
and solubility in Turner's <strong>paintings</strong>, and made them very sensitive to cleaning.<br />
Megilps, as well as paints with a startling variety of melting and softening<br />
points, have been fo und in numerous samples from Reynolds's later <strong>paintings</strong><br />
of the 1780s. Reynolds's The Death if Dido, one of the "fancy pictures"<br />
wherein he is said to have used paint media that he never allowed his pupils<br />
to use, is particularly rich in megilplike layers and has some very striking<br />
surface defects. They arise when a modified oil layer is applied to fairly pure<br />
oil, whereupon microwrinkles form in the previously stable film, and the<br />
surface later exhibits a rough texture with drying cracks cutting in deeply.<br />
Figure 6. Detail if Anna's veil, painted over clouds and sky, from Joshua Reynolds's The Death of<br />
Dido, ca. 1781. Oil on cal1vas, 1473 X 2407. Courtesy of The Royal Collection, Her Majesty the<br />
Queen.<br />
182<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
TabLe 1. Dates of manufa cture of inorganic pigments introduced 1775- 1875, with the earliest<br />
instance of their use fo und to date in oil <strong>paintings</strong> at the Tate Gallery.<br />
Pigment Firat manufacture Earlieat dete Artlat Source<br />
Prussian blue early18th c. by mid-18th c. varioos<br />
Marred mid or later 18th c.? 1755 1760 Reynolds a<br />
Mars yellow mid or later 16th c.? 1781 Reynolds a<br />
Mars brown mid or later 18th c.? 1781 Reynolds<br />
patent yellow published ca.1 ns 1781 1 Reynolds a<br />
Scheele's green used 1775 ca. 1606-1807 Turner a<br />
published 1778<br />
b<br />
cobalt green pub 1780 not found yet a<br />
made mid-19th c.? or 1825<br />
C<br />
barium sulphate used 1782 1840s Turner d<br />
Indian yellow mentioned 1766 1781 Reynolds a<br />
Brunswick green "nawn in 1795 not found yet e<br />
opaque oxide of chromium scld by Reid 1815 not found yet a<br />
cobalt blue 1802 in France ca.1801>-1807 Turner f<br />
chrome yellow 1814 1815 exh. 1814 Turner a<br />
pale lemon chrome posl 1814-1815? ca.1822 1823 Turner<br />
chrome orange post 1814-18151 ca.1822 1823 Turner<br />
emerald green disc. 1814 ca.1828 Turner I<br />
synthetic ultramarine 1826-1827 c8.1851 Turner a<br />
1857 Campbell j<br />
ultramarine green prepared 1828, made 1854-6 not found yet 9<br />
Chinese white 1834 in England 1835-1840 Turner a<br />
1852 Hunt<br />
viridian 1830s in France exh. 1842 Turner f<br />
cobalt yellow 1831 in Germany 18731 Whistler a<br />
made 1851. 1860 Eng<br />
d<br />
barium chromate French pat 1840s exh. 1843 Turner h<br />
strontium chromate sold by Reid 1835? Mulready 8<br />
1857 Campbell j<br />
orange vermilion ''new in 1835 exh. 1843 Turner i<br />
chrome scarlet 1840 W&N ca.1851 Turner e<br />
cadmium yellow 1843 1855 Millais j, i<br />
antimony orange patented in England in 1847 not found yet c<br />
zinc chromate 1850 not found yet 9<br />
cobalt violet dark mentioned 1859 not found yet e<br />
cadmium orange 1860 Rowney 1872 Whistler e<br />
unramarine red dev 1870 1880 not found yet 9<br />
Sources: (a) Harley, R. D. 1982. Artists' Pigments c11835. A Study of English Documentary Sources.<br />
London: Heinemann-Butterworth ; (b) Reid, G. 1835. Chromatography. London: Tilt; (e) Friedstein, H. 1981.<br />
Journal of Chemical Education (58):291-95; (d) Artists' Pigments. A Handlx>ok of their History and Characteristics.<br />
1986. Ed., A. L Feller. Washington: National Gallery of Art; (8) l. Carlyle, personal communication; (1) Bomford, D.,<br />
J. Kirby, J. Leighton, and A. Roy. 1990. Art in the Ma king:Impressionism. London: National Gallery; (g) Gattens, R.<br />
J., and G. l. Stout. 1966. Painting Materials: A Short Encyclopedia. New York: Dover Publications; (h) D.<br />
Saunders and J. Kirby, personal communication ; (i) Harley, A. D. 1987. Some new watercolours in the nineteenth<br />
century. The Conservator (11):46-50; m E. Sheldon, personal communication. Paintings are privately owned.<br />
Figure 6 shows a detail of this painting, which was lined early in its history.<br />
Turner's techniques were similar, in that he would apparently apply any paint<br />
medium over any other to gain a beautiful but short-lived visual effect.<br />
Some of Turner's imitators achieved effects that today appear similar to his,<br />
but without the shrinkage and disruption of the paint. Turner's <strong>paintings</strong> may<br />
have changed greatly with time, as the critic John Ruskin thought. Several<br />
of Callcott's <strong>paintings</strong> have numerous thin glaze layers and less wet working<br />
than Turner used. Callcott, Etty, and other contemporaries of Turner did not<br />
have the patience to wait until previous paint had dried before they added<br />
another layer, but they did use varnish interlayers so that later paint could be<br />
applied safely. The Pre-Raphaelites favored a disciplined approach, too, as is<br />
well known. Hunt's Strayed Sheep (Our English Coasts) has very detailed, localized<br />
layers applied to already dried paint throughout the foreground, and,<br />
like works by Mulready and Collins, has a very well-preserved surface today<br />
(Plate 36).<br />
The other durable method is to use such slow-drying oil paint that wet<br />
working is possible, or to thin the paint so it fo rms a single layer. This was<br />
Whistler's method in the early 1870s, when he was producing nocturnes and<br />
harmonies (13). Instead of allowing the paint layer to grow thick, he scraped<br />
it back vigorously and began again, sometimes using paint so wet that the<br />
canvas had to be laid flat until it dried.<br />
British artists' adoption of new pigments, 1775-1875<br />
Table 1 summarizes dates of invention, first publication, and so on, of pigments<br />
that became available between the eighteenth century and 1875, and<br />
notes the earliest occurrence yet found in oil <strong>paintings</strong> at the Tate Gallery.<br />
Townsend 183
Reynolds was known to experiment with paint media, and he might be<br />
supposed to have tried out new pigments too. Five of his works have been<br />
examined, including three at the Tate. Not surprisingly, all five include traditional<br />
pigments such as lead white, ivory black, asphaltum, vermilion, and<br />
Naples yellow, while one or more included red lead, orpiment, blue verditer,<br />
smalt, ultramarine, and green earth (14). Prussian blue, invented early in the<br />
eighteenth century, was used frequently by Reynolds. Some of this Prussian<br />
blue has a different microscopical appearance from the modern variety; similar<br />
material, previously illustrated in color by Welsh (15), was identified in Turner's<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> up to about 1840, when Turner began using the "modern"<br />
variety as well. George Jones used the modern variety in 1832. Reynolds also<br />
used Mars red from 1755-1760, and Mars orange, red, and brown in 1781.<br />
He used Indian yellow in a work dated to 1788, and wrote about a material<br />
that may have been Indian yellow in 1784, two years before it has been noted<br />
in the literature (16). Patent yellow has also been tentatively identified in a<br />
painting of 1781. Table 1 shows that all these instances demonstrate early uses<br />
of these pigments. Reynolds' organic pigments (red, blue, and a green made<br />
from yellow and blue dyes) are still being investigated.<br />
Turner's early use (1800-1850) of new pigments in oil, summarized in Table<br />
1, has been described elsewhere (17). While it is true that more <strong>paintings</strong> by<br />
Turner than other individual artists have been analyzed, the inference that he<br />
was more innovative than his contemporaries is inescapable. Turner used Mars<br />
colors frequently, as did many of his fellow British artists, including Constable<br />
from circa 1810 (18). In contrast, Arnald, Farington, Hilton, and Callcott used<br />
only well-established pigments such as ultramarine, Prussian blue, Naples yellow,<br />
and vermilion. Artists who used new pigments quite soon after their<br />
introduction include the following: Constable-cobalt blue in 1817-1818,<br />
chrome yellow in 1816, and opaque oxide of chromium in 1837 or earlier;<br />
Briggs-chrome yellow and orange in 1826; and Mulready-emerald green<br />
in 1842 (19). Barium chromate and a pigment tentatively identified as strontium<br />
yellow were found in a Mulready of 1835. Cadmium yellow has been<br />
fo und in a Millais of 1855, and strontium yellow in a Campbell of 1857 (20).<br />
The latter included synthetic ultramarine, rarely used before 1850 except by<br />
Turner, because it had a poor reputation (21). Whistler used two shades of<br />
cadmium yellow regularly from 1864 (the earliest of his works at the Tate),<br />
and strontium yellow in two works circa 1864-1871 and in 1872, respectively<br />
(22) . The earliest tentative identification of cobalt yellow (mixed with barium<br />
chromate) is in one of Whistler's oils from the fo llowing year. No examples<br />
have yet been found of the cobalt violet shades that were available by the<br />
end of this period or by 1900.<br />
White pigments and their fillers are also interesting. Artists from the time of<br />
Reynolds and Romney tended to use lead white with pipe clay or china clay<br />
extenders, both for priming and paint. Gypsum has been found in many paint<br />
samples from Reynolds and Wright of Derby in the later eighteenth century<br />
(23). Zinc white was very rarely found in Turner's oils, and not yet in his<br />
fellow Royal Academicians works painted before 1847. But Hunt used it in<br />
1852, with lead white for a local imprimatura under the sky of Strayed Sheep<br />
(Our English Coasts) and with Prussian blue, presumably supplied as a tube of<br />
paler "Antwerp blue." Barium, attributable to barium sulfate, has been fo und<br />
as an extender in Turner's <strong>paintings</strong> of the 1840s, in the Hunt piece, and very<br />
frequently in Whistler's white paint from 1864-1 875, and beyond.<br />
A discussion of pigments that fell out of use during this period would be out<br />
of place here, but work is continuing in this area (24). Analyses of the paint<br />
media used by the artists mentioned here also continue, but as yet there are<br />
insufficient results for comparisons between Turner and many of his contemporanes.<br />
Acknowledgments<br />
The Turner research was fu nded by the Leverhulme Trust and supported by the Tate<br />
Gallery, through Stephen Hackney. My thanks to the following people: Brian<br />
184<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Kennedy of the Ulster Museum, Viola Pemberton-Piggott of the Royal Collection<br />
and Helen Valentine of the Royal Academy, who arranged the examination of the<br />
Turners in their collections, Anna Southall and Gillian Osmond, who pointed out<br />
interesting nineteenth-century pigment samples, and Stephen Hackney, Tom Learner,<br />
Rica Jones, and Anna Southall for editing.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Townsend, ]. 1993. Turner's Painting Techniques. London: Tate Gallery. Information<br />
on Turner is published here, except where stated otherwise.<br />
2. Townsend,]. H. n.d. Turner's use of materials, and implications for conservation.<br />
In Turner's Paintings Techniques in Context. Ed. ]. H. Townsend, et al. London:<br />
UKIC. Forthcoming.<br />
3. The Diary ofjoseph Farington. 1978. Eds. K. Garlick and A. Maclntyre. London:<br />
Yale University Press, Vol. I (1799), 273.<br />
4. Jones, R. 1991. Notes for conservators on Wright of Derby's painting techniques.<br />
The Conservator (15):13-32.<br />
5. Cove, S. 1991. Constable's oil painting materials and techniques. In Constable.<br />
Eds. L. Parris and 1. Fleming-Williams. London: Tate Gallery, 493-529.<br />
6. These Whistler canvases are in the Birnie Philip Gift, Hunterian Art Gallery,<br />
University of Glasgow.<br />
7. Townsend,]. H. 1994. The materials of]. M. W. Turner, 2: primings and supports.<br />
Studies in Conservation (39):145-53.<br />
8. Carlyle, L. A., and A. Southall. 1993. No short mechanic road to fame: the<br />
implications of certain artists' materials for the durability of British painting:<br />
1770-1840. In Robert Vernon's Gift: British Artfor the Nation 1847. London: Tate<br />
Gallery, 21-26.<br />
9. Townsend, n.d., op. cit.<br />
10. Carlyle and Southall, op. cit.<br />
11. Townsend, n.d., op. cit.<br />
12. Rainford, D., personal communication.<br />
13. Hackney, S. 1994. Colour and tone in Whistler's nocturnes and harmonies 1871-<br />
1872. The Burlington Magazine CXXXVI (10):695-99.<br />
14. Some identifications were made by Rica Jones, Tate Gallery.<br />
15. Welsh, F. S. 1988. Particle characteristics of Prussian blue in an <strong>historical</strong> oil paint.<br />
journal of the American Institute fo r Conservation (27):55-63.<br />
16. Dubois, H. 1992. Aspects if Sir joshua Reynolds' Painting Technique. Unpublished<br />
typescript. Cambridge: Hamilton Kerr Institute.<br />
17. Townsend, n.d. , op. cit.<br />
18. Cove, op. cit.<br />
19. Ibid.<br />
20. Sheldon, E., personal communication. Paintings are privately owned.<br />
21. Townsend,]. H. 1993. The materials of]. M. W Turner, 1: Pigments. Studies in<br />
Conservation (38) :231-53.<br />
22. See note 6.<br />
23. Jones, op. cit.<br />
24. Townsend, ]. H., L. Carlyle, S. Woodcock, and N. Khandekar. Unpublished research.<br />
Townsend 185
Abstract<br />
Several of Whistler's <strong>paintings</strong> were<br />
examjned and, where possible, analyzed;<br />
specific examples of pigment<br />
and media analyzes are given. Literature<br />
sources were searched fo r references<br />
to the artist's materials and<br />
methods. This paper describes Whistler's<br />
interest in texture, his use of<br />
dark gray grounds, his limited color<br />
ranges and careful preparation of the<br />
palette, his frequent erasure of his<br />
unsuccessful work, and details of his<br />
studio practice and portrait techniques.<br />
Probable changes in the<br />
appearance of his work are also discussed.<br />
Art for Art's Sake: The Materials and Techniques of<br />
James McNeill Whistler (1834-1903)<br />
Stephen Hackney<br />
Conservation Department<br />
Tate Gallery<br />
Millbank<br />
London SW 1P 4RG<br />
United Kingdom<br />
Introduction<br />
Several of Whistler's oil <strong>paintings</strong> were studied in detail; works in the Tate<br />
Gallery, in particular, were analyzed and examined before conservation treatment<br />
using a fu ll range of analytical techniques. Paintings in the H unterian<br />
Art Gallery, Glasgow from the Birnie Philip bequest were also examined in<br />
detail and in some cases analyzed (1). Paintings in the National Gallery of<br />
Art, Washington were examined in conjunction with their conservation records.<br />
Several other works were examined or viewed in isolation; finally, the<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> in the Whistler Exhibition (1994) were inspected on arrival at the<br />
Tate Gallery (2). It has therefore been possible to make some interesting<br />
observations about Whistler's materials and techniques, based on detailed examinations<br />
of selected works and supported by the wider survey, and to compare<br />
them with the literature on Whistler's methods. This interpretation may<br />
be useful in understanding the present condition of his works and in helping<br />
to decide appropriate conservation treatments. It is also of general interest for<br />
the viewer wishing to appreciate a particular painting.<br />
Supports<br />
From the 1880s, Whistler frequently carried small panels for sketching, focusing<br />
particularly on street scenes, views of the sea, and figure studies. Some<br />
of his nocturnes and early studies were also on larger panels. The scale of<br />
these works was small because he painted distant views approximately the<br />
size that they appeared to him. For his major finished <strong>paintings</strong> and portraits,<br />
however, he worked on canvas, which provided a texture he liked. He often<br />
chose quite heavy canvases and applied thin grounds in order to preserve<br />
their texture. On other occasions he might paint on a fine canvas, then have<br />
the painting glue-lined onto a coarser one very soon after completion or<br />
even during the time of painting. He did this quite deliberately and there is<br />
evidence that he wished to imitate the lined appearance of old master <strong>paintings</strong><br />
(3). His later work, such as Mother of Pearl and Silver: The Andalusian<br />
(1888-1900), illustrates this desire to express the canvas texture.<br />
Grounds<br />
Feurc 1. James Whistler, Note in Red:<br />
The Siesta, 1883- 1884. Oil 011 palle/.<br />
Daniel j. Terra Collcetioll.<br />
Whistler's grounds were crucial to his methods. He came to London shortly<br />
after the Pre-Raphaelites had taken the use of smooth white grounds and<br />
intense color to extremes; some of his early grounds appear to be the white,<br />
commercially available grounds of the mid-century. Yet Whistler's training in<br />
Paris with Charles Gleyre (an academician who specialized in subjects taken<br />
from his travels in the Middle East), his early interest in the methods of the<br />
French Realists, and his experience with pastel, etching, and drypoint were<br />
more important influences. Whistler frequently applied a light gray imprimatura<br />
of oil paint on top of the ground to allow him to paint directly in a<br />
mid-ground technique. This technique is most easily observed in his small<br />
sketches on panel, for example, Note in Red: The Siesta (1883-884) (Fig. 1).<br />
After 1871 he increasingly used darker gray, exploiting the ground to develop<br />
full chiaroscuro effects in his later works, often setting his figure against a<br />
dark background. A photograph of his studio reveals that he had a black cloth<br />
186<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, alld Studio Practice
Figure 2. James Whistler, Nocturne in Blue and Silver: Cremorne Lights, 1872. Oil on canvas.<br />
The Tate Gallery, Londol1.<br />
to drape over an easel behind the sitter. Dark grounds were first successfully<br />
exploited by Whistler to produce his nocturnes of the 1870s. Similarly, fo r<br />
his watercolors, designs, and etchings, Whistler also sought old mid-toned or<br />
dark papers to form the basis of his images.<br />
To make dark grounds, he mixed ivory black and lead white, frequently modified<br />
with other pigments. In his Chelsea studio, the Greaves brothers helped<br />
him prepare his materials. Walter Greaves describes his ground as a very absorbent<br />
distemper, indicating that at this stage Whistler was not only modifYing<br />
commercial grounds but also preparing his own (4). The production of<br />
nocturnes was a period of experimentation. Nocturne in Blue and Silver: Cremarne<br />
Lights (1872) (Fig. 2) is on a partially scraped down, reused canvas from<br />
an earlier series with an unmodified, lighter commercial ground, whereas<br />
Nocturne in Blue Green: Chelsea (1871) has a dark ground applied over a white<br />
commercial priming on a mahogany panel. Nocturne in Black and Gold: The<br />
Fire Wheel (1875) has no commercial ground, only an artist's priming over<br />
the sized canvas. This ground consists of ivory black, chrome or cadmium<br />
yellow, and small amounts of lead white.<br />
Palette<br />
Figure 3. Brushes, paints, palettes, and other<br />
painting materials. Courtesy of the Hunterian<br />
Art Gallery, University of Glasgow, Birnie<br />
Philip Bequest.<br />
Several of Whistler's palettes survive, along with his brushes, charcoal, engraving<br />
tools and tube paints, presumably dating from the last period ofWhistler's<br />
life before they were donated to the Hunterian Art Gallery (Fig. 3).<br />
These have been examined and analyzed during the present study (5). For a<br />
short time (1898-1901), Whistler taught at the Academie Carmen. Reports<br />
by students of his methods demonstrate Whistler's concern fo r the preparation<br />
and layout of his palette. Colors were laid out in a specific order across the<br />
top of the palette from left to right: Prussian blue, cobalt blue, raw umber,<br />
burnt sienna, raw sienna, yellow ochre, a large blob of lead white, vermilion,<br />
Venetian red, Indian red, and black. Flesh tones were mixed just below the<br />
white, using the appropriate surrounding colors, and in turn these tones were<br />
modified by the black which was spread in a broad band curving downward.<br />
A preparation for the background color was mixed at the left. He then<br />
worked out all the colors and tones for his composition on his palette before<br />
placing any paint on his canvases. So obsessed was he with this "scientific"<br />
method that he would frequently examine his students' palettes yet ignore<br />
their <strong>paintings</strong>, wishing (he claimed) not to interfere with their individuality<br />
and free expression (6) .<br />
Hackney 187
Although this is a description of Whistler's late work, the artist acknowledges<br />
that he learned his approach from Gleyre and therefore would have employed<br />
similar methods throughout his career, with either a wider range of pigments<br />
or less mixing of pigments in his earlier work. Menpes confirms the attention<br />
to the palette but attributes to him the use of more intense lemon and cadmium<br />
yellows placed next to the ochre, and the use of rose madder instead<br />
of the Venetian red (7).<br />
Whistler kept a great number of brushes, many of which he used at a single<br />
sitting in order to prevent his dominant hues from becoming fu rther mixed.<br />
He spent much time cleaning and preparing these brushes, sometimes trimming<br />
and changing their shape. He had various types, including decorator's<br />
brushes to lay in grounds and backgrounds and extremely long-handled<br />
brushes for his portrait technique.<br />
Pigments analyzed<br />
Figure 4. James Whistler, Harmony in<br />
Grey and Green: Miss Cicely Alexander,<br />
1872- 1874. Oil on canvas. The Tate Gallery,<br />
London.<br />
Analysis of pigments fo und on Whistler's <strong>paintings</strong> confirm the use of complex<br />
mixtures of pigments usually involving at least some ivory black.<br />
Frequently, the same pigments are found mixed in different proportions<br />
throughout a painting. In nocturnes, mixtures of lead white, ivory black, cobalt,<br />
Prussian blue, and ultramarine have been found. By these means, Whistler<br />
produced his harmonies. For instance, Harmony in Grey and Green: Miss Cicely<br />
Alexander (1872) has a gray background, but this is an optical mixture of<br />
several colors based on lead white and ivory black (Fig. 4) . The same colors<br />
occur in the superficially white dress. By restricting the saturation and hue<br />
of his colors throughout the scheme, Whistler could model his fo rms without<br />
introducing discordant hues typical of the works of many nineteenth-century<br />
painters influenced by the Pre-Raphaelites and exploiting a range of unmixed<br />
pigments. This restriction allowed him to explore subtle color effects; fo r<br />
example, he could choose to highlight a red as in the Arrangement in Flesh<br />
Color and Black: Portrait
5). There are many such examples of scraped down paint that have not been<br />
entirely painted over (i.e., Cicely Alexander) and there must be even more that<br />
are no longer visible. Although tiresome for the sitter, this approach was<br />
essential to the artist. The harmony would not survive if the pigments were<br />
not all mixed in a single operation on the same palette. His paint is essentially<br />
opaque with little or no deliberate glazing. Discolored glazes would also destroy<br />
the harmony. Therefore, as a rule, all his transparent pigments were<br />
mixed with opaque.<br />
A further constraint in the studio is described by Walter Sickert (8):<br />
Figure 5. Detail from Cicely Alexander,<br />
showing areas scraped down to the canvas.<br />
Whistler was a great portrait painter, and prided himself on the precision<br />
oj his portraiture. Whistler also had extensive knowledge, and knew that<br />
the eye could only see at a glance an object which in size is one-third oj<br />
the distance between the eye and that object. In other words, if you are<br />
painting a man six Jeet high you should be 18 Jeet away Jrom him.<br />
Whistler had a very long studio, and he was accustomed to place his model<br />
against a black velvet background, and alongside his model he placed his<br />
canvas. His painting table was 18 Jeet away. He would stand at the<br />
painting table, carifully survey the model, then charging his brush with the<br />
requisite pigment he ran at Ju ll tilt up to the canvas and dropped it on the<br />
spot.<br />
This unlikely scenario is consistent with the small scale of much of his work<br />
and the flatness of the space around and behind his models.<br />
In his nocturnes, Whistler's paint was extremely dilute. He mixed his oil paint<br />
with large amounts of turpentine and also added mastic varnish to produce<br />
a paint that could be brushed freely and did not dry too matte. He called it<br />
his "sauce" and analyses at the Institute for Atomic and Molecular Physics in<br />
Amsterdam confirm its formulation from mastic and a drying oil. In his later<br />
work he may have used newly available petroleum oil, as recommended to<br />
him by Sickert in 1885. In portraits such as Arrangement in Yellow and Grey:<br />
Effi e Deans (1876-1878), he has allowed paint to run down the canvas, indicating<br />
just how diluted it was. His nocturnes were painted quite quickly<br />
(in a day) with minor modifications the next day, as Whistler freely admitted<br />
in his libel trial with Ruskin. The dark passages were first brushed in umber<br />
and black, or were simply the part of the imprimatura left exposed. Then a<br />
layer of "sauce" was applied using a large brush to scumble over the shadows<br />
and develop the lighter parts. The color and tone were controlled mainly by<br />
the thickness of application. The paint was worked wet-in-wet, scraped,<br />
rubbed, and even dragged across the wet surface, as in the reflections in Nocturne:<br />
Blue and Silver (1872) (Plate 38). Finally, details such as highlights were<br />
applied, after which the nocturne was put outside to dry in the sun. When<br />
it was dry, perhaps the next day, fu rther details could be applied, preferably<br />
from the same palette, but reworking was not possible at this stage.<br />
Condition and changes with time<br />
Changes in appearance have occurred on many of his works and, despite his<br />
frequent scraping down, minor adjustments to compositions-such as the<br />
positions of arms and feet-are now evident. Most significantly, many works<br />
have become darker and cooler as the thin paint has increased in transparency<br />
over the dark ground. Similarly, the small sketches with medium-toned<br />
grounds have lost contrast in the mid-tones. His earlier, more decoratively<br />
colorful work on light grounds or thickly painted work, although flawed in<br />
detail, has preserved its appearance much better and is more readily appreciated.<br />
The darkness of much of Whistler's later work is due, in part, to<br />
changes resulting from dark grounds and also possibly from the darkening of<br />
medium, but to some extent the effect was intended.<br />
Whistler appears to have always varnished his work and now many of his<br />
varnishes are excessively darkened and yellowed. In particular the discolora-<br />
Hackney 189
tion of varnish has dramatically affected the cool tones of nocturnes and some<br />
portrait backgrounds.<br />
Acknowledgments<br />
This research has been a collaboration between the author and Dr. Joyce Townsend,<br />
who also carried out all the pigment analysis and investigated the media. Medium<br />
analysis was also carried out by the Institute fo r Atomic and Molecular Physics,<br />
Amsterdam. The author expresses his gratitude to Prof. Jaap Boon and Jos Pureveen<br />
fo r this work. Appreciation is also extended to the Hunterian Art Gallery, Glasgow,<br />
and to the National Gallery of Art, Wa shington, fo r allowing access to their collections;<br />
and to colleagues at the Tate GaLlery.<br />
Notes<br />
1. McLaren Young, A., M. F MacDonald, and R. Spencer, with the assistance of<br />
A. Miles. 1990. The Pailltings oj james McNeill Whistler. New Haven and London.<br />
2. Dorment, R., and M. MacDonald. 1994. james McNeill Whistler. Exhibition catalogue.<br />
London: Tate Gallery.<br />
3. Hackney, S. 1994. Colour and tone in Whistler's nocturnes and harmonies. TIle<br />
Burlington Magazine. Vol. CXXXVI, (1099): 695-99.<br />
4. Pennell, E. R.., and J. Pennell. 1911. The Life oj james McNeill Whistler. 5th rev. ed.<br />
London: Heinemann, 113-17.<br />
5. Townsend, J. H. 1994. Whistler's oil painting materials. The Burlington Magazine.<br />
Vol. CXXXVI (1099):690-95.<br />
6. Pennell, op. cit., 375-78.<br />
7. Menpes, M. 1904. Whistler as I Knew Him. London: Adam and Charles Black, 69-<br />
71.<br />
8. Sickert, W. 1930. Walter Sickert's class: methods of instruction. Manchester Guardian,<br />
31 November.<br />
190<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Abstract<br />
This paper discusses aspects of <strong>paintings</strong><br />
executed on a photographic<br />
substrate. Inspired by Mervyn Ruggles's<br />
research into the use of this<br />
practice in the nineteenth century,<br />
this discussion presents examples of<br />
materials and techniques that have<br />
been proposed, manufactured, or<br />
employed fo r this purpose over the<br />
last 100 years. Information on this<br />
subject was gathered from the available<br />
literature and through personal<br />
communication with artists engaged<br />
in producing this type of artwork, as<br />
well as through discussions with<br />
manufacturers and museum personnel.<br />
North American and European<br />
instances are included, and details regarding<br />
the works of contemporary<br />
artists, such as Lynton Wells, Shirley<br />
Wiitasalo, Anselm Kiefer, and James<br />
Turrell, are noted.<br />
Painting on a Photographic Substrate: Notes Regarding<br />
Materials and Techniques over the Past 100 Ye ars<br />
John R. Gayer<br />
Koivikkotie 3 I 76<br />
00630 Helsinki<br />
Finland<br />
Introduction<br />
The idea of painting over photographic images has been present since the<br />
invention of photography. Sources regarding materials and techniques appropriate<br />
to this process have varied; some information has appeared in scientific<br />
and photographic publications. Communication with a number of contemporary<br />
artists, though, has shown that such literature rarely directly influenced<br />
their work. The principal factors guiding their production tended to consist<br />
of a willingness to experiment, a general awareness that such media may be<br />
combined, and the fact that this combination may serve their particular aesthetic<br />
or intellectual aims. The photographic image has also not only served<br />
as a replacement fo r the underdrawing, as was noted by Mervyn Ruggles in<br />
cases of nineteenth-century portraiture, but has been employed for a variety<br />
of purposes (1).<br />
The following presents a brief discussion outlining the evolution of materials<br />
and techniques over the last 100 years. The discussion culminates in a focus<br />
on contemporary practice since the 1960s, a period in which the painter's<br />
use of a photographic substrate became more widespread.<br />
From the late nineteenth century to 1950<br />
In the late nineteenth century, improvements in photographic technology and<br />
the availability of commercial products made it far easier for the artist to<br />
utilize such means in the painting studio. M. L. Winter of Vienna, for example,<br />
established an operation in 1877 fo r the extensive production of enlarged<br />
photographs on linen, and proprietary brands of gelatin-silver emulsion-coated<br />
linen were available from the 1890s (2, 3) . The introduction of faster<br />
bromide emulsions in the 1880s also greatly reduced the difficulties associated<br />
with producing enlargements, thus de-emphasizing the need for specialists<br />
(4).<br />
Oils were frequently used for painting on photographic images, but other<br />
materials were also proposed. Instructions published during the 1890s and<br />
thereafter commonly referred to the coloring of photographs on paper supports<br />
and were directed at those lacking artistic skills. Details regarding the<br />
media proposed for this purpose have been included here because this information<br />
provides a more complete range of the materials that may be encountered,<br />
as well as indicating the interests and concerns of the time.<br />
A number of proposals fo r the coloring of photographs appeared in Scientific<br />
American during the 1890s. An 1894 article, reprinted from Anthony's Bulletin,<br />
recommended the use of transparent and covering colors. These colors were<br />
to be made by mixing dry powdered pigments with a medium consisting of<br />
100 cc filtered albumin, 5 g ammonium carbonate, 3 cc glycerin, 4 cc liquid<br />
ammonia, and 25 cc water (5). Another article, deriving from Photographisches<br />
Archiv, noted the use of aniline dyes. These were dissolved in alcohol and<br />
applied on the reverse (6) . Another article noted the use of oils, watercolors,<br />
and pastels. These materials were only to be applied over a preparatory layer.<br />
Gelatin was recommended for oils; shellac was recommended fo r watercolors<br />
and pastels (7).<br />
A proposal, reprinted from the British Journal of Photography, for the use of<br />
wax media appeared in a 1919 issue of Scientific American Supplement (8). Two<br />
Gayer 191
ecipes were described. The first recipe suggested combining 1 oz. white wax<br />
(bleached beeswax) , 1 oz. carbon tetrachloride, 1 oz. turpentine, 1 oz. benzene<br />
(refined naphtha) and 1 dr (118 oz.) 0.88 ammonia. The second medium was<br />
described as an improved version consisting of 114 oz. white wax (Cera Alba),<br />
112 oz. spike oil of lavender, 1 dr hard primrose soap, 2 dr gum elemi and 3<br />
112 oz. turpentine. The author proposed using wax, based on the fact that<br />
wax, employed since ancient times, had proven its durability. The author's<br />
rationale was also based on the notion that many of the negative effects<br />
resulting from the use of oils and varnishes, such as darkening and yellowing,<br />
would be avoided.<br />
A 1934 edition of a manual describing the use of various media for coloring<br />
prints on paper noted that enlargements were to be mounted on beaver board,<br />
three-ply board, or linen canvas, and then stretched (9). Adhesive residue and<br />
dirt were to be removed before the application of a preparatory layer. This<br />
layer was to consist of either a 25% solution of glacial acetic acid, gelatin, and<br />
Lepage's Liquid Glue in water (1:20), or a mixture consisting of 3 oz. of paste<br />
(made from 1 oz. pure casein, 180 g powdered borax, 3 oz. water), 3 oz.<br />
alcohol, S drops glycerin, and 5 drops carbolic acid. The image was then<br />
ready to be painted with oils, watercolors, or a medium consisting of tempera<br />
colors and the casein mixture.<br />
The 1936 edition of a manual on retouching stated that the best results for<br />
a portrait in oil were to be obtained by painting over a carbon print on<br />
canvas. A priming, consisting of a starch solution to which some mucilage<br />
had been added, was to be applied to the print before it could be painted.<br />
Reference was also made to the "Russian method" of coloring, in which<br />
layers of transparent oils were rubbed on with cotton (10). Materials recommended<br />
for this process included Marshall's Transparent Photo Oil Colors,<br />
Roehrig's Photo Oil Colours, or a combination of artists' oils and megilp.<br />
The 1930s were also a period in which photographic developments expanded<br />
into an architectural context. Articles in architecture journals noted that photographic<br />
murals could be realized through the use of photo-mural paper or<br />
the spray application of light sensitive emulsions directly onto architectural<br />
surfaces (11, 12). The notion that a variety of materials could be employed<br />
as supports fo r photographic images was also reaffirmed by new developments<br />
in industry. The Glenn L. Martin Company of Baltimore, for example, reduced<br />
aircraft production time by developing an emulsion that enabled the<br />
full-scale reproduction of designs on aircraft materials (13). A commercial<br />
form of this emulsion was marketed following World War II (14). Articles<br />
outlining the use of such materials frequently noted the need for preparatory<br />
and protective layers, should the images be colored with oils or other media<br />
(15, 16).<br />
Mter 1950<br />
At the middle of this century, painters' attitudes toward the photographic<br />
image began to change. Manifestations of this attitude change included the<br />
Photo-Realist movement and Robert Rauschenberg's and Andy Warhol's use<br />
of photomechanical processes. The American artist James Couper, who has<br />
made use of 3M's Scanamural process (a computerized spray painting technique)<br />
to generate large-scale underdrawings fo r his <strong>paintings</strong>, has stated that<br />
he was drawn to this technique after learning how some Photo-Realist painters<br />
transferred images to canvas through an emulsion process (17). Studies<br />
published in the United States on the work of such painters, though, have<br />
contradicted this view. Patton, for example, has held that the intention of<br />
these painters was to comment on photography, not include it, and interviews<br />
conducted with a number of these artists have also not confirmed the use of<br />
any light sensitive coatings (18, 19).<br />
This change in attitude toward the photographic image was also affected by<br />
a new interest in early and alternative processes that occurred during the<br />
192<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
1960s in North America. Requiring both a hands-on approach and minimal<br />
resources, these processes appealed to those who felt that the elements of<br />
urban life, such as high technology and mass-produced goods, were worthy<br />
of rejection. Interest in these processes became widespread and resulted in a<br />
number of publications that provided information on various techniques (20,<br />
21, 22, 23).<br />
Commercial products, such as emulsion-coated canvas and ready-to-use<br />
emulsion, became more widely available at about the same time. Argenta,<br />
which operated in Munich, Germany, developed an emulsion-coated canvas<br />
in the late 1950s and early 1960s (24). Designed for theater use, advertising<br />
purposes, and the reproduction of stitches, this Photoleinen, or photo linen,<br />
was first marketed in 1962. The product was actually made from a cotton<br />
fabric prepared with a pigmented gelatin layer. The pigmenting agent comprised<br />
a mixture of baryta sulfate and titanium oxide. The photographic<br />
emulsion applied to the gelatin-coated fabric was the same as that used in<br />
the manufacture of baryta papers of medium gradation. It was also unwashed,<br />
that is, all superfluous salts were left in the emulsion. A 1991 product list from<br />
Luminos Photo Corporation of the United States listed the availability of<br />
sheet and roll forms of a similar product. The sheet form had been impregnated<br />
with a bromide emulsion, and the roll form with a chlorobromide<br />
emulsion (25).<br />
New lines of ready-to-apply photographic emulsions also became, and continue<br />
to be, available. One version, developed by Argenta of Munich, was<br />
described as suitable for most surfaces (26). Poor adhesion was to be remedied<br />
with a preparatory layer of varnish; metallic surfaces were to be precoated<br />
with gelatin. Print-E-Mulsion, a version developed in the United States, first<br />
appeared in the mid-1970s (27). At the end of the 1970s, the name was<br />
changed to Liquid Light.<br />
Contemporary painters<br />
Several contemporary painters have employed such materials in their work.<br />
The American artist Lynton Wells generally used a canvas manufactured by<br />
Argenta. This was used in the production of <strong>paintings</strong> and sculptures from<br />
the late 1960s until about 1983. In some of these <strong>paintings</strong>, a single image<br />
spanned multiple panels, where the total length could exceed four meters. To<br />
create these works, the artist tacked the photo linen to the studio wall and<br />
exposed the material in situ. To ensure that the image was properly aligned<br />
when the canvases were stretched, the tacking margin of each section was<br />
carefully folded under, before the edges of the canvas were put in contact.<br />
Processing was done in homemade developing trays and the images finished<br />
with one or more media. Oils, acrylics, aniline dyes, pastels, and charcoal were<br />
applied in varying densities. Frequently, these additions mimicked elements<br />
present in the photographic portion of the image. Wells also normally applied<br />
two to three layers of an acrylic polymer before painting with oils (28).<br />
Other painters who have made use of photographic bases in their work have<br />
included Arnulf Rainier of Austria, Shirley Wiitasalo and Kathleen Vaughan<br />
of Canada, Anselm Kiefer of Germany, and Fariba Hajamadi and James Turrell<br />
of the United States. From the late 1960s through the 1970s, Arnulf Rainier<br />
used photographs, photographs mounted onto wood or aluminum, and photo<br />
linen (29). The range of media employed in these works included oils, oil<br />
crayon, pencil, and ink. Portions of the photographic image remain visible in<br />
many of his works, but in some it has been completely negated by the thick<br />
application of paint.<br />
Figure 1. Shirley Wiitasalo, Interior,<br />
1981. Oil and photo emulsion on canvas.<br />
Photograph courtesy of National Gallery of<br />
Canada, Ottawa.<br />
Shirley Wiitasalo created the 1981 painting Interior by applying Liquid Light<br />
over a stretched cotton canvas prepared with an acrylic gesso (Fig. 1). Exposure<br />
was carried out using a slide projector. The image was then finished<br />
with Bellini oils and left unvarnished (30). As one of a series of <strong>paintings</strong><br />
dominated by the television screen and featuring ambiguous and distorted<br />
Gayer 193
imagery, it was the only work in which a photographic emulsion had been<br />
employed (31).<br />
Kathleen Vaughan's painting technique has also involved the use of Liquid<br />
Light. In some of her work, the emulsion was applied directly to the canvas<br />
and processed by sponging chemicals over the support. Areas of the canvas<br />
that the artist intended to appear similar to the photographic portions were<br />
stained with a distemper medium. These layers were then isolated with a<br />
coating of an acrylic varnish; texture was applied with acrylic media and the<br />
final details in oil. Due to allergies, the artist has only used linseed oil to thin<br />
her oil paints (32).<br />
Anselm Kiefer has become well known for his robust <strong>paintings</strong> in which<br />
photographic enlargements, mounted on canvas, support oil, acrylic, shellac,<br />
straw, sand, and lead additions. Kiefer's photographic underdrawings have been<br />
printed on Dokumentenpapier P 90. The harsh or catastrophic appearance<br />
of these images was created through the manipulation of lighting or processing<br />
methods (33). Although the photographic image remains visible in<br />
some of the <strong>paintings</strong>, a number of them have been completely overpainted.<br />
In such cases, only the excess of support material on the reverse of the stretcher<br />
may provide evidence as to the presence of a photographic substrate (34).<br />
Since the late 1980s, Fariba Hajamadi, an Iranian-born painter living in New<br />
York, has combined paint and photographic images to produce fictitious interiors<br />
(35). These <strong>paintings</strong> have been made by brushing a commercially<br />
available photographic emulsion directly onto cotton canvas or wood. This<br />
method was selected to enable the texture or grain of the support to contribute<br />
to the composition. Following exposure and processing, an airbrush<br />
was used to apply color. The paint, a commercially available transparent oil<br />
paint, had been thinned to the appropriate consistency with lacquer thinner<br />
(36).<br />
In the planning for his "Roden Crater Project," James Turrell has produced<br />
studies on frosted drafting mylar in which wax, photographic emulsion, and<br />
various paint and graphic media have been combined (37). These studies were<br />
created in the following way: A coating of hot beeswax was first sprayed onto<br />
the mylar. This wax layer was then coated with a photographic emulsion and<br />
the desired image of the crater exposed and processed. The image was then<br />
manipulated and elements may have been removed with an eraser or by<br />
scraping with a knife. Frequently, wax pastels were used to replace removed<br />
portions, make additions, or enhance or blur particular details. The colors<br />
used were carefully chosen so that the additions might stand out or coalesce<br />
with the existing image. In some cases, a type of sandwich was made by dry<br />
mounting drafting vellum to the emulsion-coated surface. Further details were<br />
then added to the front or back of these studies with ink, paint, graphite, or<br />
wax pastels (38).<br />
Conclusion<br />
Painting and photography are techniques that have frequently been used in<br />
conjunction with each other. For the most part, this relationship has been<br />
based on visual and intellectual concerns, not the material union of media.<br />
This paper has attempted to illustrate that although painters may not always<br />
have utilized photographic materials in their work, information regarding this<br />
possibility remained available and contributed to related and/ or contemporary<br />
forms of art production. The genre of traditional portraiture was excluded<br />
from the discussion; while some portraitists may have utilized such materials<br />
in the past, recent examples of this were not found.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Ruggles, M. 1983. A study paper concerning oil <strong>paintings</strong> on a photographic<br />
base. AIC Preprints, 104-12.<br />
194<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
2. Eder, ]. M. 1945. History of Photography. New York: Columbia University Press,<br />
791, note 4.<br />
3. Coe, B., and M. Haworth-Booth. 1983. A Guide to Early Photographic Processes.<br />
London: Hurtwood Press, 19.<br />
4. Gernsheim, H., and A. Gernsheim. 1969. The History of Photography. London:<br />
Thames and Hudson, 315.<br />
5. Joe,]. 1894. Coloring photographs. Scientijic American 71 (11):163.<br />
6. Scientijic American. 1895. Coloring photographs. Scientijic American 73 (1):27.<br />
7. Scientijic American. 1899. Coloring bromide prints. Scientijic American 81 (21):323.<br />
8. Godbold, A. V 1919. A wax medium for the permanent coloring of photographs.<br />
Scientijic American Supplement 87 (2248):74-75.<br />
9. Tobias, ]. C. 1934. The art of coloring photographic prints in transparent water-color,<br />
tempera, opaque and transparent pastel, wax crayons, opaque and transparent oils, chemical<br />
coloring, and coloring lantern slides. Boston: American Photographic Publishing<br />
Co., 54, 57-58, 60-61.<br />
10. Johnson, R. 1936. The art of retouching photographic negatives and photographic enlargements,<br />
etc. Revised and rewritten by T. S. Bruce and A. Braithwaite, 13th ed.<br />
(2nd American, revised and enlarged by A. Hammond. Boston: American Photographic<br />
Publishing Co., 143, 148-150, 152.<br />
11. Duryea, D. 1936. Notes on murals by photography. Architectural Record 80 (1):57-<br />
58, 60, 62.<br />
12. Architectural Review. 1937. The true photo-mural: a new technique of decoration.<br />
Architectural Review 81 (February) :86-87.<br />
13. Perry, H. W 1940. Photography speeds up aircraft production. American Photography<br />
34 (12): 886, 888.<br />
14. Progressive Architecture. 1946. Photographic emulsion makes any base possible. Progressive<br />
Architecture 27 (110):110.<br />
15. Duryea, op. cit., 60.<br />
16. Hochman, L. 1947. Print your photos anywhere. Popular Science 150 Oune):196.<br />
17. Corbino, M. 1986. James Couper. American Artist 50 (529):66, 68-69, 84-86.<br />
18. Patton, P. 1976. Super realism: a critical anthology. Arifo rum 14 (5):52.<br />
19. Chase, L., N. Foote, and T. McBurnett. 1972. The Photo-Realists: twelve interviews.<br />
Art in America 60 (6):73-89.<br />
20. Wade, K. E. 1976. Alternative Photographic Processes. Dobbs Ferry, New York: Morgan<br />
and Morgan, Inc.<br />
21. Howell-Koehler, N. 1980. Photo Art Processes. Worcester, Massachusetts: Davis<br />
Publications, Inc.<br />
22. Eastman Kodak Co. 1982. Photographic sensitizer for cloth and paper. Photo<br />
information bulletin PIB-6. December 1982.<br />
23. Eastman Kodak Co. 1983. Making a photographic emulsion. Photo information<br />
bulletin PIB-7. February 1983.<br />
24. Hegenbart, W 1994. Personal communication. Division Manager, Finishing Europe,<br />
Tetenal Vertriebs GmbH, Norderstedt, Germany.<br />
25. Luminos Photo Corp. 1991. B & W Products fo r the Professional. Yonkers, New<br />
York 10705.<br />
26. Hegenbart, op. cit.<br />
27. Cone, R. 1993. Personal communication. Rockland Colloid Corp., Piermont,<br />
New York 10968.<br />
28. Wells, L. 1991. Personal communication. New York, New York.<br />
29. Fuchs, R. H. 1989. Arnulf Rainer. Vienna: ARGE Gabriele Wimmer & John<br />
Sailer, 147-48.<br />
30. Gagnier, R. 1991. Personal communication. Conservator of Contemporary Art,<br />
National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa.<br />
31. Monk, P. 1987. Shirley Wiitasalo. Toronto: Art Gallery of Ontario, 13-14.<br />
32. Vaughan, K. 1993. Personal communication. Toronto, Ontario.<br />
33. Winter, P. 1989. Manipulieren, ironisieren, maltratieren: Das Foto unter der Hand<br />
des Kiinstlers. Kunstwerk 42 (March): 11.<br />
34. Penn, S. P. 1993. Personal communication. Associate Conservator of Paintings,<br />
Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19101.<br />
35. Cotter, H. 1990. Fariba Hajamadi at Christine Burgin. Art in America 78 (7):169.<br />
36. Hajamadi, F. 1991. Personal communication. New York, New York.<br />
37. Adcock, C. 1990. James Turrell: The Art if Light and Space. Berkeley and Los<br />
Angeles: University of California Press, 187-96.<br />
38. Turrell,]. 1993. Personal communication. Flagstaff, Arizona.<br />
Gayer 195
Abstract<br />
It is argued here that painters of the<br />
Baroque adhered to the die-hard tradition<br />
of loading their palettes with<br />
a limited number of tints, suitable<br />
only for painting the passage they<br />
planned to finish in that stage of the<br />
work. Support for this proposition<br />
comes from various directions: written<br />
sources, studio representations,<br />
and scientific research generated by<br />
different methods. An example of a<br />
specific studio practice is used to<br />
demonstrate the much discussed interrelation<br />
of technique and style.<br />
Reflections on the Relation between Te chnique<br />
and Style: The Use of the Palette by the<br />
Seventeenth-Century Painter<br />
Ernst van de Wetering<br />
Kunsthistorisch Instituut<br />
Herengracht 286<br />
1016 BX Amsterdam<br />
The Netherlands<br />
Introduction<br />
In the Vitae, as is widely known, Giorgio Vasari attempted to describe the<br />
development of Italian art from Giotto onward as a process of continuous<br />
progress culminating in the work of Michelangelo. The idea that art changes<br />
because better solutions appear was certainly not restricted to Vasari. While<br />
stylistic developments in Western art were viewed as a matter of progress, it<br />
was inevitable that the characteristics of earlier styles would be explained in<br />
relation to problems that had meanwhile been solved. This could apply to<br />
the invention of perspective and to the invention of oil painting-which,<br />
according to Vasari, "softens and sweetens the colors and renders them more<br />
delicate and more easily blended than do the other mediums" (1). Finally, the<br />
development of style can be applied within oil painting to the development<br />
of the technique fo r achieving a "'glowing" incarnate, as Karel van Mander<br />
termed it, by means of an underpainting in vermilion that "glows more<br />
fleshy" (2).<br />
Viewed thus, there can be said to exist a clear relation between style and<br />
technique. During the nineteenth century, however, this was a hotly debated<br />
issue among art theorists. Some of these, especially writers on architecture<br />
such as Gottfried Semper (1803-1 879) and Viol1et-le-Duc (1814-1 879),<br />
aimed to demonstrate a fu ndamental interrelation of style and technique in<br />
the arts (3). Twentieth-century developments, such as the theories underlying<br />
the Bauhaus, continued to build on the same ideas.<br />
Not everyone agrees that style and technique are interrelated. A parallel<br />
stream of art history adheres to the idea, current since the Romantic period,<br />
that every fo rm of art had its own fo rmal legitimacy. In this way of thinking,<br />
it was not necessary to explain styles in terms of technical limitations and<br />
possibilities. This line of thought culminated in the concept of Kunstwollen,<br />
originated by Alois Riegl (1858-1 905), which was seen as the manifestation<br />
of an "urge to fo rm," independent of the restrictive influence of such factors<br />
as function, materials, and technique. All the same, Riegl did not deny the<br />
influence of technique. He believed, however, that Kunstwollen overcame the<br />
technical limitations. Technical frontiers, considered by Semper to play a positive<br />
part in the creative process, constituted in Riegl's view a "coefficient of<br />
friction" within the Gesamtprodukt of Kunstwollen (4).<br />
It could be argued that Riegl's notion of Kunstwollen was partly responsible<br />
for the fact that "style" has so long remained one of the main domains of art<br />
<strong>historical</strong> research, with art historians such as Wollflin and Focillon being<br />
prominent representatives of this direction. It is worth noting here that the<br />
stylistics ofWollflin were dominated by an outlook in which the autonomous<br />
or even abstract qualities of the visual vocabulary took priority over the<br />
pictorial means employed to achieve a convincing representation of reality.<br />
Since Wollflin's times, research into artistic techniques has become more and<br />
more detached from stylistic considerations. Owing to the shift towards sci-<br />
This article was previously published, in a different form, in Oud Holland 107: 1, 1993,<br />
137-51; and in KM, vakil'!for111atie voor beeldende Kunstenaars en res fa rato ren, Fall 1994,<br />
28-31; reprinted, with changes, by permission of the author.<br />
196<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
Figure 1. Jan Baptiste Collaert, Color Olivi, 1566- 1628. After Joharll1es Stradanus. Courtesy of<br />
the Rij"ksmuseum-Stichting, Amsterdam.<br />
entific research methods, research into historic techniques has now come to<br />
play a central part in research on authenticity and workshop practice, as well<br />
as in conservation and restoration.<br />
Research into historic techniques has made considerable progress in these<br />
areas during recent decades, so it now makes sense for current applications<br />
and future research to turn renewed attention to the interrelation between<br />
technique and style. This interrelation is examined here through the study of<br />
developments affecting the painter's palette.<br />
Palettes<br />
One of the most fascinating and complete documents concerning the history<br />
of the art of oil painting is a well-known engraving by Jan Baptist Collaert,<br />
after Stradanus, which dates from the end of the sixteenth century (Fig. 1).<br />
This engraving gives a highly detailed picture of an idealized painter's studio:<br />
the master is working on a history piece, while an assistant is occupied with<br />
painting a portrait. Two other assistants are grinding and preparing colors.<br />
The engraving shows countless details that provide valuable hints about dayto-day<br />
practice in the late-sixteenth-century painter's studio. In the fo reground,<br />
three boy apprentices can be seen; the smallest is practicing the<br />
rudiments of drawing, and the more advanced apprentice on the left is drawing<br />
from plaster casts.<br />
For our present purposes, we are solely concerned with the apron-clad apprentice<br />
standing next to the master. He is setting out a palette of small shells,<br />
presumably containing colors prepared by the assistants, and holds a palette<br />
similar to that of the master. As it will soon be made clear, the arrangement<br />
of the master's palette with so few colors is far from arbitrary. Like so many<br />
other details, this must be regarded as a faithful representation of sixteenthcentury<br />
practice. The youth in the foreground has applied a limited number<br />
of colors to the palette in his hand. As on his master's palette, they are spread<br />
out over the surface of the palette.<br />
There are generally no written sources to be fo und on the most routine<br />
activities of the painter's studio through history. Incidental evidence on certain<br />
aspects of painterly practice can be gleaned from documents, but we have to<br />
live with the fact that such sources are extremely sporadic in both time and<br />
place. In the present case, a late-seventeenth-century Italian text can be shown<br />
van de Wetering 197
to relate to the activities depicted on the previously mentioned engraving by<br />
Collaert, which originated a hundred years earlier in the Netherlands. Using<br />
available sources in this way is, of course, only justifiable when the phenomenon<br />
being investigated is widespread and displays a certain constancy. The<br />
considerable mobility of painters in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries<br />
provided many opportunities for the spreading of painterly techniques and<br />
procedures. Many young painters traveled across Europe and worked in the<br />
studios of various masters for shorter or longer periods; a similar situation still<br />
exists in the international art restorers' world. This form of mobility ensured<br />
a rapid dissemination of knowledge and experience, leading to a high level<br />
of international uniformity in knowledge and craft practices. Bearing this in<br />
mind, one might venture a cautious guess that the question of what the youth<br />
with the apron is doing in the studio of Stradanus could be answered by a<br />
passage from the Volpato Manuscript, a seventeenth-century Italian document.<br />
This text by Giovanni Battista Volpato (born in 1633) must date from<br />
somewhere around 1680, and was written in the fo rm of a series of dialogues.<br />
It contains the following exchange between F., an older painter's apprentice,<br />
and Silvio, a younger apprentice (5):<br />
Silvio: Tell me, if you will, whether you set your master's palette.<br />
F: Surely . ... It suffices Jor him to tell me what he intends to paint, Jor<br />
I then know which colors I must place on the palette.<br />
The engraving after Stradanus and this late-seventeenth-century text provide<br />
two of the few hints-which until now have not been given any consideration<br />
in the literature on art history and painting techniques-that painters<br />
formerly used palettes which were set with groups of colors specifically for<br />
certain parts of the painting, and which thus did not include all the available<br />
pigments. This understanding of the situation has a far-reaching consequence:<br />
one must then see the seventeenth-century (but also earlier or later) painting<br />
as a composite image made up of interlocking passages, comparable to the<br />
giornate, the successively executed "daily portions," of fresco painting, although<br />
in the case of oil painting, a number of passages would have generally been<br />
completed on a given day (6).<br />
In using such a method, the seventeenth-century way of painting differed<br />
fu ndamentally from the approach of late nineteenth- and twentieth-century<br />
artists, namely in developing the painting as a tonal entity. For example, the<br />
Hague School painter Jozef IsraeIs used a palette with a full range of colors<br />
and with a mixing area covered with patches of mixed paint, of which the<br />
tone and color could be further modified. A palette of this kind enabled the<br />
artist to continue working over the whole area of the painting simultaneously,<br />
with an eye to controlling the tonal consistency of the painting.<br />
In the first instance, the idea of earlier artists working in giornate as described<br />
above may sound highly exaggerated. After all, we know that the great majority<br />
of seventeenth-century painters did in fact conceive their painting as<br />
a tonal unity, as is evidenced by the practice of starting with a largely monochromatic<br />
or "dead color" underpainting (7) . The point of importance here<br />
is that after laying in the underpainting, the artist developed the composition<br />
further by successively adding islands of modulated local color. Once this is<br />
understood, it becomes clear that a painting such as Rembrandt's Jewish Bride<br />
has far more in common with work of predecessors such as Raphael than<br />
with the <strong>paintings</strong> of Jozef IsraeJs and his contemporaries, however much<br />
inspiration IsraeIs drew from that painting.<br />
A method such as that described is intimately connected with the material,<br />
technical, and economic constraints that were inherent to oil painting, constraints<br />
that only vanished (and were subsequently forgotten) with the introduction<br />
of ready-to-use, "mutually compatible" tube colors (8).<br />
The early palettes were small. Only in the course of the nineteenth century<br />
did they grow to the size of small tabletops. It will be clear that this relatively<br />
198<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
sudden increase in the dimensions of the palette is part of the argument put<br />
forth here (9).<br />
When one studies the distribution of various tints on the countless palettes<br />
that appear in <strong>paintings</strong>, it is impossible to avoid the impression that the<br />
painters adhered strictly to a certain set of rules. This is certainly true for the<br />
period after about 1600. Prior to that time, the palette was ostensibly set with<br />
relative freedom. But it is precisely in those earliest representations of palettes<br />
that it is sometimes obvious that the palettes were set up specifically for each<br />
passage to be painted.<br />
Niklaus Deutsch's painting St. Luke Painting the Madonna (1515) is typical of<br />
a group of <strong>paintings</strong> completed in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, in<br />
which St. Luke is in the process of painting the Madonna's robe. The depicted<br />
artists' palettes show a limited number of patches of paint, with various shades<br />
of blue as well as black and a little white. These are exactly the colors needed<br />
to render the modeling in the drapery of the blue robe-distributed apparently<br />
at random over the surface of the palette (10). In <strong>paintings</strong> of the same<br />
period in which St. Luke is painting the naked Christ Child or the face of<br />
Maria, the palette carries the range of colors needed to mix the various tints<br />
of the flesh: white, yellow ochre, vermilion, red lake, various browns, black,<br />
and sometimes terre verde (11).<br />
As explained in the following discussion, the flesh tint, like blue, had an<br />
important status. The colors for painting the human skin were not yet systematically<br />
arranged on the palette before 1600, but appear to be distributed<br />
at random. For example, the position of the white paint differs from one case<br />
to another on earlier palettes. From 1600 onward, studio scenes and self portraits<br />
depict palettes with a row of lumps of paint spaced evenly along the<br />
top edge. The range of colors depicted normally runs from a somewhat larger<br />
portion of white near the thumb, to yellow ochre, vermilion, red lake, and<br />
then through a series of progressively darker browns to black. Alternately, the<br />
vermilion is sometimes placed between the white and the thumb. This arrangement<br />
agrees with a passage in the Mayerne Manuscript: "It is to be<br />
observed, moreover, that in setting the palette, the lightest tints must always,<br />
without exception, be placed at the top and the darker tints lower down"<br />
(12). It is striking, and very significant in the context of this article, that the<br />
author has found no instance of the depicted standard palettes from either<br />
before 1600 or afterward that includes any intense green, bright yellow, or<br />
blue paint. These are what are called, in the Mayerne Manuscript of 1630,<br />
"the strong colors" (13). The reason for the absence of these colors is clarified<br />
by the following.<br />
In the Volpato Manuscript, the older apprentice tells the younger that his<br />
master merely has to indicate what passage is to be painted in order to lay<br />
out an appropriate palette. This statement implies the existence of fixed recipes<br />
for reproducing the various elements of nature. Around the same time,<br />
the Dutch painter Willem Beurs wrote down such recipes for the benefit of<br />
both "students of the Noble Painterly Art" and interested "amateurs" (14).<br />
As an example, a recipe for painting a white horse follows (15):<br />
One paints the illuminated side using white, light ochre and black, with<br />
pure white for the highlights; light ochre is recommended for the intermediate<br />
color, and it is advisable there to be rather sparing with white. For the<br />
shadow, black and light ochre must be mixed together with a little white;<br />
the niflection under the belly should be mostly light ochre, with sparing use<br />
of black and white. The hooves can sometimes be painted with black, white<br />
and light ochre, with a touch of vermilion; and sometimes with black, white,<br />
and umber. The color of the nose is the same as that of the hoofs. But as<br />
fo r the eyes: the pupil should be painted with bone black, and the rest with<br />
umber, black and white.<br />
It is clear that if an artist plans to paint a white horse, the only pigments<br />
needed on the palette are white lead, yellow ochre, vermilion, umber, and<br />
van de Wetering 199
one black; and if the painter expects painting the horse to be a day's work,<br />
no other colors need be prepared for that day, apart from the five pigments<br />
just mentioned.<br />
It is notable that throughout hundreds of recipes of this kind, only a severely<br />
limited range of pigments is prescribed. This provides a piece of information<br />
that is of critical importance to the picture of the artists' practice being<br />
sketched here: paint was only ground and prepared when it was needed. It is<br />
precisely because painters wished to keep working without unnecessary delays<br />
and therefore found it advantageous to use paint that dried quickly (thus<br />
containing strong drying oils and other drying agents), that paint could not<br />
be kept for long. If the complete range of pigments, each already ground<br />
with oil, had to be available, this would mean that much paint would have<br />
to be thrown away unused. Hence the economic reasons for the method of<br />
working with restricted, specific palettes are clear. The technical background<br />
of this method will be discussed briefly in this paper.<br />
It is significant that the series of recipes recorded by Willem Beurs concludes<br />
with flesh colors (16). Beurs writes as follows: "Just as we humans consider<br />
ourselves the foremost among animals; so, too, are we the foremost subject of<br />
the art of painting, and it is in painting human flesh that its highest achievements<br />
are to be seen" (17). The palette Beurs gives fo r painting human flesh<br />
comprised mixtures of the pigments lead white, light ochre, schijtgeel (an organic<br />
yellow), vermilion, red lake, tawny ochre, terre verde, umber, and "coal<br />
black" (probably ground charcoal which gives a bluish black). It was the<br />
palette for what was considered to be the summit of creation, and the most<br />
difficult subject of all to paint, the human figure. It is almost invariably the<br />
palette for flesh colors that is depicted in self portraits and studio scenes after<br />
1600, <strong>paintings</strong> that are generally intended to represent the art of painting at<br />
its noblest.<br />
It will come as no surprise to anyone who has examined fifteenth- or sixteenth-century<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> to any depth as material objects, that every passage<br />
was executed as a separate entity. The additive character of the painting as a<br />
whole is generally plain to see, despite the psychological compulsion perceptually<br />
acting on the viewer to transform the painting into a Gestalt.<br />
Even though revolutionary developments during the seventeenth century<br />
brought the pursuit of pictorial unity to an unprecedented level, the sources<br />
quoted above suggest that no change had taken place in the tradition of using<br />
recipes for various components of the painting. The economic rationale for<br />
this approach has already been mentioned above. Originally, however, technical<br />
reasons may have provided an even stronger motivation for executing a<br />
painting as a series of successive passages.<br />
For the twentieth-century painter, who normally regards paint as a pasty<br />
substance of a certain color that can be squeezed out of a tube, it is hard to<br />
imagine that to artists of not only the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, but<br />
also through the first half of the nineteenth century, each pigment presented<br />
its own inherent possibilities and constraints (18). Some pigments could not<br />
be worked up with oil; some pigments could only safely be mixed with one<br />
or two other pigments; some pigments could only be used transparently and<br />
yet others only opaquely. Other properties, too, such as color permanence,<br />
workability, drying qualities, and so on, could differ so strongly from one<br />
pigment to another that it was normal to use a given pigment either in pure<br />
form or mixed with any of a limited number of other pigments in order to<br />
somewhat modifY the tone and color (19). This helps explain why, in the<br />
work of artists such as van Eyck or Lucas van Leyden, the colors unmistakably<br />
interlock like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, and each color has an individual<br />
character, especially as to transparency, surface texture, and thickness of the<br />
paint layer. The most easily workable pigments were the earth colors, which<br />
ranged from yellow ochre through red ochres to the darkest brown tints and<br />
were varied in tone by mixing together and by the addition of white or<br />
200<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice
lacks. Passages painted with mixtures of these pigments are subtle in their<br />
tonal values and graduations. Whenever it was necessary to achieve strong,<br />
bright colors (i.e., red, yellow, and blue robes), it is clear that the passage<br />
concerned was executed within carefully delineated contours in accordance<br />
with a fixed recipe, involving a specific layering or a fixed type of underpainting.<br />
This also explains why these colors are usually absent from fleshcolor<br />
palettes depicted in studio scenes and self-portraits.<br />
Figure 2. Neutronactivation autoradiographic<br />
image of Rembrandt's Bellona, 1633. The<br />
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. In<br />
this image the activated phosphor atoms (from<br />
bone black) and mercury atoms (from vermilion,<br />
used on the figure'S mouth) have mainly<br />
blackened the film.<br />
Figure 3. The image of the autoradiograph<br />
in Fig. 2 is mainly determined by the radiation<br />
from the copper atoms (from the bluegreen<br />
parts in the painting) and again the<br />
mercury of the vermilion.<br />
That artists worked in this way during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries<br />
can easily be discerned from the <strong>paintings</strong> themselves. But did this practice<br />
continue into the Baroque period? In the case of Rembrandt, this is by no<br />
means self-evident. There were already indications, however, that Rembrandt<br />
must have used this method; it has been observed that he completed his<br />
<strong>paintings</strong> systematically from background to foreground, passage by passage,<br />
on the basis of a monochromatic underpainting (20). This does not necessarily<br />
imply, however, that he did this using a restricted palette. An important piece<br />
of evidence for that practice is supplied by scientific studies. It was the failure<br />
of a reconstruction project that, in fact, formed the seed of the study presented<br />
here. The preparation of a dummy Rembrandt using all the procedures of<br />
Rembrandt's studio that were known at the time was unsuccessful because<br />
the painting was executed using a complete palette. All the pigments that<br />
were in use during the seventeenth century were present on the palette and<br />
they were mixed on the same mixing surface, which was cleaned at intervals.<br />
Autoradiographic investigation of the dummy made it clear that the procedure<br />
used resulted in all the pigments being present to a greater or lesser<br />
degree all over the painting. By contrast, autoradiography of Rembrandt's<br />
actual <strong>paintings</strong> resulted in surprisingly "clean" images (Figs. 2, 3) (21).<br />
In Rembrandt's painting, certain pigments occur only within clearly demarcated<br />
zones, not in the rest of the painting. This observation is additionally<br />
confirmed by studies of paint samples from Rembrandt's <strong>paintings</strong>, which<br />
time and again reveal that only a limited number of pigments were used in<br />
a given passage. The mixtures found usually consist of two to four different<br />
pigments; mixtures of five-or, in very exceptional cases, six-pigments are<br />
found only incidentally (e.g., in flesh passages). To achieve the typically Baroque<br />
tonal unity using such methods implies a highly developed level of<br />
"management" in the use of colors and tones. It is therefore no coincidence<br />
that artists began theorizing about the nature of this "management" during<br />
the seventeenth century. This was made clear by Paul Taylor's study of the<br />
term houding (roughly, "disposition") that appears regularly in seventeenthcentury<br />
sources (22). Until some time into the sixteenth century, the picture<br />
space was still structured simply as a foreground with a background or campo,<br />
a concept on which Jeroen Stumpel performed an important study (23). The<br />
idea denoted by the term houding was a far more complex one, however.<br />
Seventeenth-century writers used houding to denote the spatial coherence<br />
created in the painting by the disposition of tones and colors. The viewer<br />
could "walk" through this space in his imagination. In a formulation by Willem<br />
Goeree (1668), houding is (24):<br />
. . . that which binds everything together in a Drawing or Painting, which<br />
makes things move to the front or back, and which causes everything from<br />
the foreground to the middle ground and thence to the background to stand<br />
in its proper place without appearing fu rther away or closer, and without<br />
seeming lighter or darker, than its distance warrants; so that everything<br />
stands out, without confusion, from the things that adjoin and surround<br />
it, and has an unambiguous position through the proper use of size and<br />
color, and light and shadow; and so that the eye can naturally perceive the<br />
intervening space, that distance between the bodies which is lift open and<br />
empty, both near and far, as though one might go there on foot, and<br />
everything stands in its proper place therein.<br />
When one considers how a painter would have been intensively concerned<br />
with obtaining a good houding while at the same time working with selective<br />
van de Wetering 201
palettes as described above, it is clear that the level of accomplishment required<br />
was of a quite different nature to the methods of painters from the<br />
later nineteenth and twentieth centuries, who, thanks to the full palette, could<br />
now work on the whole painting at once. This fact clearly explains the somewhat<br />
"muddy" effect, compared to earlier <strong>paintings</strong>, characteristic of Jozef<br />
Israels and many of his contemporaries and successors.<br />
Research into the borderline region between style and technique throws light<br />
on unexpected aspects of seventeenth-century studio practice. It is clear, for<br />
instance, that the view on the genesis of <strong>paintings</strong> presented here must have<br />
implications for scientific research into Baroque <strong>paintings</strong>. Analytical studies<br />
of the binding media used in the seventeenth century (e.g., by Rembrandt)<br />
suggest that a different blend of media is likely to be found in every giornate<br />
of the painting (25).<br />
This study has produced a picture that may be relevant to the discussion of<br />
the interrelation of style and technique, namely that of a development of<br />
Baroque painting in which artists strove for a unified tonal image that did<br />
not appear to be composed by additive methods. The fact that these additive<br />
techniques were used gives a different picture of the artist at work, one in<br />
which technical limitations actually constituted the "coefficient of friction"<br />
(to use Riegl's term) that thwarted the artists in their pursuit of a new style.<br />
It was even necessary for the seventeenth-century painters to introduce a new<br />
art-theoretical concept, namely houding, to bring the discussion of these efforts<br />
to a new level of abstraction. Only in the nineteenth century did the<br />
technical materials and means arise-namely, the full color palette, paint in<br />
tubes, and the associated large palette sizes-that made it possible to apply a<br />
technique appropriate to the painter's stylistic aspirations (as exemplified by<br />
Cezanne's remark, "You must understand that I handle the whole painting at<br />
once, in its totality") (26). Semper appears to be borne out, on the other<br />
hand, if one observes that a late Rembrandt, placed between a Raphael and<br />
a nineteenth-century piece of "Rembrandtism" such as a late work by Jozef<br />
Israels, shows closer kinship to the Raphael than to the Israels. Indeed, the<br />
technique of additive painting has an unmistakable determinative effect on<br />
the style of a painting.<br />
Aclrnowledgll1ents<br />
Thanks are hereby expressed to Jos Koldeweij , Hayo Menso de Boer, Paul Broeckhof,<br />
Dieuwertje Dekkers, Karin Groen, and Charlie Srnid. Much of the research underlying<br />
this study was carried out within the framework of the Rembrandt Research<br />
Project, financed by the Netherlands Organization fo r Scientific Research, and also<br />
received valuable support from the Director and the Head of the Art History Department<br />
of the Central Laboratory for Research on Objects of Art and Science,<br />
Amsterdam.<br />
Notes<br />
1. Vasari on technique. 1960. Ed. B. Brown. New York, 230.<br />
2. van Mander, K. 1604. Den grondt der ede! vry Schilderconst. Haarlem, fol. 64r. P<br />
Taylor of the Warburg Institute, London, is carrying out research on the concept<br />
"glowing" in connection with the painting of flesh in the early seventeenth<br />
century.<br />
3. Semper, G. 1860-1863. Der Stil in den technischen und tektonischen KiJnsten. Frankfurt<br />
am Main. See also Viollet-Ie-Duc, E. E. 1863-1872. L'entretien sur I'architecture.<br />
Paris.<br />
4. Riegl, A. 1893. Stilfragen. Berlin, v-xix, 20, 24. See also Kultermann, U. 1966.<br />
Geschichte der Kunstgeschichte. Vienna, 288.<br />
5. Giovanni Battista Volpato: Modo da tener nel dipingere. 1967. In Original Treatises<br />
on the Arts oj Painting. Ed. M. P Merrifield. New York, 726-55, especially<br />
746-48.<br />
6. Mora, P, L. Mora, and P Philippot. 1984. Conservation oj Wall Paintings. London,<br />
138-64.<br />
7. van de Wetering, E. 1977. De jonge Rembrandt aan het werk. In Qud Holland<br />
(91):7-65, especially 20-24.<br />
202<br />
Historical Painting Techniques, Maten:als, and Studio Practice
8. It is not clear when people first started keeping prepared paint in small pouches<br />
made of pig's bladder. The pouches are occasionally illustrated in eighteenthcentury<br />
sources. According to R. G. Gettens and G. L. Stout (1942. Painting<br />
Materials: A Short Encyclopedia. New York, 318), the tube came into widespread<br />
use around 1840.<br />
9. A description of the evolution of the palette can be fo und in Gettens and Stout,<br />
op. cit. (note 8), 299-304.<br />
10. Colyn de Coter, St. Luke Painting the Madonna, Vievre, Alliers (near Moulins),<br />
ca. 1490; de Meester van het Augustiner Altaar, St. Luke Painting the Madonna,<br />
Germanisches Nationalmuseum Niirnberg, 1487; Nicolaus Manuel Deutsch, St.<br />
Luke Painting the Madonna, Bern Kunstmuseum, 1514-1515; Unknown Flemish<br />
Master, St. Luke Painting the Madonna, the Grimani Brevarium, fol. 781 v, Bibliotheca<br />
Marciana, Venice.<br />
11. Hinrik Bornemann, St. Luke Painting the Madonna, Hamburg, Jakobikerk, 1499;<br />
School of Quinten Massys, St. Luke Painting the Madonna, National Gallery, London;<br />
Derick Baegert, St. Luke Painting the Madonna, Landesmuseum, Munster,<br />
1490. Belonging to the same category of palette are: Jacob Cornelisz van Oostzanen,<br />
Self Portrait of the Artist Working on a Portrait of his Wife, Museum of Art,<br />
Toledo, ca. 1530; Catharina van Hemessen, Self Portrait, Offentliche Kunstsammlung<br />
Basel, ca. 1548.<br />
12. Pierre Lebrun, Recueil des essaies des merveilles de la Peinture. In Original Treatises<br />
on the Art of Painting, Vol. II. 1967. Ed. M. P. Merrifield. New York, 770-<br />
71.<br />
13. Quellen fur Maltechnik wahrend der Renaissance und deren Folgezeit (XVI-XVII Jahrhundert),<br />
Vol. IV 1901. Ed. E. Berger. Munich, 288-89.<br />
14. Beurs, W 1698. De Groote Waereld in het Kleen geschildert. Amsterdam.<br />
15. Beurs, op. cit., 165-66.<br />
16. Beurs, op. cit., 184-87.<br />
17. Beurs, op. cit., 186.<br />
18. This standardization of the working properties of various colors of paint is<br />
achieved by the addition of fillers such as bentonites or aluminium hydrates, or<br />
by the use of alternative pigments. Naples yellow, for example, is substituted by<br />
a mixture of titanium white and cadmium yellow.<br />
19. See for example the specifications given for the various pigments in a section<br />
about oil paint in De volmaakte Verwer, 1770. Amsterdam, appendix.<br />
20. van de Wetering, E. 1977. De jonge Rembrandt aan het werk. In Oud Holland<br />
91:7-65, especially 20-2. See also van de Wetering, E. 1982. In A corpus of Rembrandt<br />
Paintings, Vol. I. J. Bruyn, B. Haak, S. H. Levie, P .J. J. van Thiel, E. van de<br />
Wetering. Den Haag, 25-31.<br />
21. Ainsworth, M. W et al. 1982. Art and Autoradiography: Insights into the Genesis if<br />
Paintings by Rembrandt, Van Dijck and Vermeer, New York. For activities in the<br />
autoradiographic area by the Gemalde-Galerie and the Hahn-Meitner-Instituut<br />
fUr Kernforschung in Berlin, see MaltechniklRestauro I (1987):21 et seq.<br />
22. Taylor, P. 1992. Harmony and Illusion in Golden Age Dutch Art Theory: The<br />
Concept of Houding. In Journal if Warburg and Courtauld Institutes. (LV) :210-32.<br />
23. Stumpel, J. 1990. The Province of Painting. Theories if Italian Renaissance Art.<br />
Utrecht, 131-174 (also published in: Simiolus 1989, 19 [3/4]:219-43).<br />
24. Goeree, W 1670. Inleyding tot d'Algemeene Teykenkonst. (First printing, 1668.)<br />
Middelburg, 219-43.<br />
25. c.f. the article by C. M. Groen in the still unpublished publication in connection<br />
with the restoration of the late Rembrandts in the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.<br />
26. "Je mene comprenez un peu, toute ma toile a la fois, d'ensemble." Gasquet, J.<br />
1926. Cezanne. Paris, 89.<br />
van de Wetering 203
Index of Contributors<br />
J. R. J. van Asperen de Boer, 135<br />
Sylvana Barrett, 6<br />
Ulrich Birkmaier, 117<br />
Barbara H. Berrie, 127<br />
Leslie A. Carlyle, 1<br />
Dace Choldere, 155<br />
Josephine A. Darrah, 70<br />
Kate I. DufiY, 78<br />
Jacki A. Elgar, 78<br />
Molly Faries, 135<br />
Beate Federspiel, 58<br />
John R. Gayer, 191<br />
E. Melanie Gifford, 140<br />
Helen Glanville, 12<br />
Stephen Hackney, 186<br />
Erma Hermens, 48<br />
Helen C. Howard, 91<br />
Melissa R. Katz, 158<br />
Jo Kirby, 166<br />
Ann Massing, 20<br />
Catherine A. Metzger, 127<br />
Ilze Poriete, 155<br />
Andrea Rothe, 111, 117<br />
Ashok Roy, 166<br />
Zuzana Skalova, 85<br />
Eddie Sinclair, 105<br />
Christa Steinbiichel, 135<br />
Dusan C. Stulik, 6<br />
Joyce H. Townsend, 176<br />
J0rgen adum, 148<br />
Arie allert, 38, 117<br />
Ernst van de etering, 196<br />
Sally A. 00dcock, 30<br />
Renate oudhuysen-Keller, 65<br />
204<br />
Index oj Contributors
Errata for Historical Painting Techniques PDF<br />
COVER ILLUSTRATION and PLATE 8<br />
Gherardo Cibo, “Colchico,” folio 17r of Herbarium, ca. 1570. © British Library Board (ADD MS 22333).<br />
PLATES 7a, 7b and PAGE 50, Figure 1<br />
Valerio Mariani de Pesaro, Battaglia di San Fabiano, 1618-1620, GDSU. Images provided by permission<br />
of the Ministero per i Beni e le Attivita Culturali, Florence, Italy.<br />
PLATE 12<br />
Plate printed upside down in relation to Plate 11.<br />
PLATE 17: (c. 50 x 246.5 x 2.5 cm)<br />
PLATE 18: (c. 50 x 212 x 2.5 cm)<br />
PLATE 29e<br />
Plate printed upside down in relation to Plates 29a-d,f.<br />
PAGE 52<br />
Figure 3. Gherardo Cibo, “Hemionite,” folio 143r of Herbarium, ca. 1570. © British Library Board (ADD<br />
MS 22333).<br />
PAGE 53<br />
Figure 4. Gherardo Cibo, “Fusaina [. . .] nocella qui chiamata a Roccha C[ontrada],” folio 183v of<br />
Herbarium, ca. 1570. © British Library Board (ADD MS 22332).<br />
PAGE 53, CONT.
Figure 5. Gherardo Cibo, several proofs of colors and “Fusaina” flowers, from folio 184v of Herbarium,<br />
ca. 1570. © British Library Board (ADD MS 22332).<br />
PAGE 85<br />
Paragraph 2. Alfred Butler assessed the beams in 1880, not the 1870s.<br />
PAGE 86<br />
Paragraph 4. The first icon, The Virgin Mary and Child enthroned between Archangels, Prophets and<br />
Egyptian, Greek and Syrian Holy Bishops and Monks, measures c. 50 x 246.5 x 2.5 cm, and is shown in<br />
Plate 17 and Figures 3 (left) and 4a, b. The second icon, Six Equestrian Saints (originally ten saints),<br />
measures c. 50 x 212 x 2.5 cm, is shown in Plate 18 and in Figures 2a,b; 3 (right); and 4c-e.<br />
PAGE 89<br />
Acknowledgments. The author…has been working since 1989 as the Field Director of the joint Egyptian-<br />
Netherlands ‘Coptic Icons Conservation Project’ based in the Coptic Museum in Cairo, not as the Field<br />
Director of the Coptic Museum in Cairo as originally published.<br />
Note 3. The correct reference: Butler, A. J. 1884.<br />
PAGE 90<br />
Note 13. The correct reference: MacCoull, L.S.B. 1993. The Apa Apollos Monastery at Pharoou. In Le<br />
Muséon (106), note 11.<br />
Note 20. Abu al-Makarim, a Coptic priest from the church of the Holy Virgin at Harat Zuwayla, Cairo,<br />
left folios in a manuscript dating from around 1200 known as History of the Churches and Monasteries in<br />
Lower Egypt in the 13th Century. See Père Samuel du Monastère des Syriens. 1990. Icônes et<br />
iconographie en Égypte au XIIe siècle d’après le manuscrit d’Abū- El-Makārim, publié en Arabe au Caire<br />
en 1984. Le Monde Copte, No. 18. Limoges, 78.<br />
PAGE 115<br />
Figure 3. Mantegna, Andrea (1431-1506). The Presentation in the Temple. Original strainer with panel<br />
inserts seen from front. 68.9 x 86.3 cm. Gemaeldegalerie, Staatliche Museen, Berlin, Germany. Photo<br />
credit: bpk, Berlin/Art Resource, NY.<br />
PAGE 135<br />
Lines 9,12, and 14. “Mander” should read “van Mander.”<br />
PAGE 137<br />
Line 2. “No ground is used” should read “no ground appears in this sample.”<br />
PAGE 158<br />
Figure 1. Image source: Period photo reproduced in O. von Schleinitz, William Holman Hunt (Bielefeld<br />
and Leipzig: Verlag von Velhagen & Klasing, 1907).
PAGE 159<br />
Figure 2. Image source: Period photo reproduced in O. von Schleinitz, William Holman Hunt (Bielefeld<br />
and Leipzig: Verlag von Velhagen & Klasing, 1907).<br />
PAGE 160<br />
Figure 5. William Holman Hunt, Autoritratto, Galleria degli Uffizi. Image provided by permission of the<br />
Ministero per i Beni e le Attivita Culturali, Florence, Italy.<br />
Figure 6. Unknown Artist. Paint Bladder, 19th century. Oil paint contained in an animal bladder with<br />
three ivory plugs; 4.45 x 2.54 cm (1 3/4 x 1 in.) Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum, Straus Center for<br />
Conservation. Gift of C. Roberson and Co., London, FINV2155.<br />
Photo: Imaging Department © President and Fellows of Harvard College<br />
Brass paint tube, (not assigned). Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum, Straus.698<br />
Photo: Imaging Department © President and Fellows of Harvard College<br />
Empty paint tube, (not assigned). Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum, Straus.696<br />
Photo: Imaging Department © President and Fellows of Harvard College<br />
Figure 8. William Holman Hunt. The Miracle of the Sacred Fire, Church of the Holy Sepulchre, 1892-<br />
1899. Mixture of oil and resin on canvas; 92.1 x 125.7 cm (36 1/4 x 49 1/2 in.) Framed: 114.5 x 148.3 x 7<br />
cm (45 1/16 x 58 3/8 x 2 3/4 in.) Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum, Gift of Grenville L. Winthrop,<br />
Class of 1886, 1942.198.<br />
Photo: Imaging Department © President and Fellows of Harvard College<br />
PAGE 169<br />
Figure 3. The Execution of Lady Jane Grey. Pencil drawing for the central group, 18 X 16.5 cm. © The<br />
Trustees of the British Museum.<br />
PAGE 178<br />
Figure 2. J. M. W. Turner, Dolbadern Castle, North Wales, 1802. Oil on canvas, 1190 x 889 mm.<br />
Courtesy of the Royal Academy of Arts, London, www.racollection.org.uk.<br />
PAGE 182<br />
Figure 6. Detail of Anna's veil, painted over clouds and sky, from Joshua Reynolds's The Death of<br />
Dido, ca. 1781. Oil on canvas, 1473 X 2407. Supplied by Royal Collection Trust / © HM Queen<br />
Elizabeth II 2012.<br />
PAGE 187<br />
Figure 3. Brushes, paints, palettes, and other painting materials. © The Hunterian, University of Glasgow<br />
2012.